To Trust Again
by misti4492
Summary: Sequel to Loyal 'Til the End. Merlin knew the time drew near for his destiny fulfillment when Arthur began the steps to unite the kingdoms of Albion in peace; but with Morgana still out on the run and the hesitance for people to accept magic, it was all the Court Sorcerer could do to remain calm. Neither did it help that the ghost of his failures continued to haunt him.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Quick note on the prologue, it is in fact the same as what was posted as the epilogue for Loyal 'Til the End. I decided to move it here since I didn't like having such a cliffhanger ending for that story. So if you read it already, just skip down to where it says Chapter 1 which picks up directly where the prologue ends.****  
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**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.**

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

His hand swiped across his forehead, rubbing away the sweat that glistened on his brow. After weeks of work and research, he finally succeeded, or at least something close to success; still, it was a solution he was desperate to find.

He gave the potion a few turns with the spoon, watching in excitement as it cooked but also in distaste at the prospect of dinking the black tar liquid. The thick substance had ingredients that he would never bring close to his mouth, much less ingest. Still, if it could make it stop…

"Desperate aren't we, Merlin?" Lance- it, _it_ said.

He ignored the figure standing in the middle of the room as he extinguished the flames and poured the potion in a small wooden cup with a wave of his hand. Then, as if it could break at the force of one's breath, Merlin carefully took the cup and placed it on another one of his worktable, in the center. He drew a stool from across the room and sat down, staring at the concoction.

"It won't work," it sang, "not for as long as you want it to."

It had to work, it _had_ to. It was getting worse, and harder to hide from his friend. They have been occurring at a faster rate and Merlin would rather not have a repeat of the last patrol.

It was close, _too_ close.

He could practically feel the questioning gazes of concerned knights all the way back to Camelot.

Merlin lifted the cup from the table, his eyes searching the mixture, eyes demanding it be the solution he had searched for so long. He needed it…

"What's wrong, my love," cooed another voice from next to him. Fingers ghosted through his hair, too light for him to know with confidence that it was there, "aren't you happy to see me again?"

He squeezed his eyes and grabbed at the chain hanging from his neck, gripping the ring that it threaded. There he sat still, cup in one hand and ring in the other.

"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin," it sang, "escape is _so_ simple."

_For Arthur then._

With a sharp intake of air, Merlin took a second to prepare before he threw back his head and tipped the cup against his lips. He shuddered as the unnaturally cold goo slid into his mouth and down his throat, bringing a taste that left him gagging. He gripped harder on the ring as he pushed the stool away from the desk and hung his head between his knees, his body still trying to expel the potion.

He sat like that, coughing and gasping, as the potion finally settled and began to take effect. Already the shadows retreated from him, he could feel it even with his eyes closed now, or is that his mind tricking him again? He shook his head and stumbled to his feet.

It's not over. Not until he opened his eyes, not until he checked.

His eyes fluttered open.

He scanned the room.

Then he sighed.

They're gone.

It _worked_.

"Not for long, my dear monster," it whispered.

* * *

No one dared to move, not when such a destructive force walked into their presence. The months had not been kind to her. Her wild, tangled hair was in more of a disarray and what remained of her black dress was composed of whatever scraps of cloths she could find to mend it. The once beautiful lace tattered and torn, leaving nothing of the original beauty the gown possessed beneath the rough patch jobs and holes. Her ever-pale face was gaunt and her tired green eyes burned with an undistinguishable hatred that struck fear in the hearts of all the druids in the cave.

Only the druid chieftain stood firm against her. While he knew that it would be foolish to attack her, he also knew that she would not chance it as well. Just because she could wipe all of them out, didn't mean she herself could survive such an attack. There were enough druids here to take her down; she knew they couldn't be killed without a fight. Still, he feared what led her to visit their corner of the kingdom though he would not show it.

"Morgana," he called out, neutral.

"Hello Briec," the witch smiled. She lifted her head up with pride and stood at the center of the room. The rest of the druids retreated to the side of the cave walls, many standing in front of the children as a living shield, their eyes showed wariness towards the witch.

"What do you want? You are not welcomed here." A few winced at the blunt and harsh way the chief treated the sorceress, but chose to remain silent.

"Oh don't be rude, I'll hate if anyone got hurt because you have the manners of half-starved mutts fighting for a scrap of meat," Morgana smirked; her eyes took on a glint as she took her time to look around. The druids shivered, none cared much for the way the witch's eyes shined, as if calculating the best way to slaughter them.

"We are followers of Emrys, threaten us, you threaten him."

Her eyes narrowed, "Emrys is nothing but a serving boy."

"And you fear him," Briec said, his voice firm. "Leave us now, witch, there is no need for bloodshed."

"I did not come here to fight, just to extend an offer," she sauntered closer, a predator approaching her prey. Around the chieftain, the druids tensed as she stood face to face with him. Briec took a half step back but otherwise stood his ground before Morgana, his eyes like steel as he met her eyes. "Join me, Briec, you and your people."

"And why should we?"

"Because I can give you something your precious Emrys cannot."

"Peace that of which we have never seen before is growing under the care of the King and Emrys. Even as we speak, there are druids that the Pendragon has accepted into the elites of Camelot with an extension of friendship. That is more than you can ever offer."

"That peace won't last," Morgana laughed, "Arthur is biding his time, for when he can do the most damage."

Briec shook his head, "How blind are you, Morgana? Arthur Pendragon poses us no threat, not anymore."

"But not his people," Morgana snarled; a smirk followed when Briec could not immediately give a retort. "You say I'm blind yet you are deaf to the cries of your own people. While your little friends play nice with my brother in Camelot, his people turn against our kin as one by one they foolishly reveal their magic."

"They will begin to accept us, they just need time."

"How much time? They have been given months and still we are prosecuted."

"And you have done the same when you sat on the throne, we can at least trust King Arthur for eventual peace."

"Under my rule, peace would have been achieved. Once Arthur and Emrys were taken out of the picture, I would have gotten the people of Camelot, of _Albion_, to accept magic."

"What, by _fear_?"

"By whatever means necessary!" Morgana snarled, causing a flinch from Briec.

"Then you persecute more people for a new thought they cannot comprehend. Your rule led us all to a second Purge"

Morgana's hand shot out and wrapped around Briec's neck, her eyes were like fire as hatred oozed from her olive eyes. "The people accepted magic; that is more than my dear brother is capable of ever doing."

"Leave now," The Druids voice wavered but his determined eyes left no room to argue, "I don't wish for the death of my people, but I will not stop them if they attack."

Morgana sneered and tightened her hand, causing the chieftain to choke. Then, she felt more than saw the hum of magic in the air as a few Druids began to approach, hand raised and readied to attack the sorceress. One last squeeze followed by a shove, Morgana turned on her heels, leaving the chieftain coughing on the ground as she glared at the people around, warning them to keep their distance. They remained, tense, in case the witch turned and attack them. It wasn't until after she left that they relaxed and convened around Briec, one helping the man back to his feet.

With her back to the group, Morgana did not notice when one man broke from the group and approached her. A cloak hung over his face, hiding his features from onlookers; he wore a sword on his belt and ratty leather armor. The scars that riddled it showed the experience the young man had in swordplay, surprising for coming from relatively peaceful druids. The rest of his clothes remained partially hidden by the dark, forest green cloak. He extended his hand and rested upon her shoulders, causing her to twist and raise her hand in anger, her eyes burning a furious gold as fire erupted in her palm.

"Release me, druid," she snarled.

The druid let go, his hand rose up to placate the witch before he reached for the hood of his cloak and threw it down. As the hood settled around his shoulders and Morgana took in the black curly hair and ice blue set into a pale face. The boyish features and the ease at which he stood, comfortable even as she threatened him, showed Morgana that he had just entered adulthood.

Familiarity radiated from the man in n intense wave; a nostalgia that brought her back reminiscing of her days in Camelot. She still remembered the way her heart beat, like that of a fluttering bird, when she laid eyes on the young druid boy. There was fear in her eyes every time she saw the little body shake with fever as he succumbed to an infection. The hate and anger she held, inconsequential compared to current times, grew as she struggled to protect the child from Uther. Together, she and her supposed friends succeeded in saving the boy, the boy who now stood before her, years later, as a young man.

"Hello Morgana," he said, sounding neither friendly nor threatening.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

"Mordred," Morgana whispered in surprise, her lips curled into a smile. "Look at you, you've grown!"

Mordred smiled as well, if a bit forced, as he replied in kind, "It has been a long time since we last met."

"I thought you were dead, especially when you had not turned up during-"

"Your bout as Queen? I was in Mercia with a group of druids dodging King Bayard's patrols when you took over. I decided to stay with them longer than I normally do to make sure they were safe."

"So you have been surviving all these year jumping from group to group then?"

"For the most part, I find it is easier to survive when surrounded by people I can trust. Druids will always welcome one of their own."

"When people would rather tie you to a stake, I can understand seeking the druids."

"After several decades with stringent anti-magic laws, people fear sorcery. Much of the damage done during Uther's rule would take time to fix."

Morgana snorted and continued to make her way out of the cave, "That fear will be the end of us if there is no competent ruler to stop it."

The young druid followed her, shaking his head as he disagreed, "King Arthur has made strides towards peace. There are rumors that he is calling rulers from neighboring kingdoms into peace talks. We can already expect him to be lobbying for pro-magic laws to kingdoms whose treaties to Camelot were created under a mutual hatred of sorcery."

"He is a fool," Morgana laughed though without humor, "our kind are getting killed daily because they believe they have been freed. Camelot serves as a trap for sorcerers; they think that Arthur and his precious _Emrys_ can protect them while all they do is sit back and watch the carnage unfold."

"You cannot force these people to accept magic, not after so long without it," admonished Mordred. "During the past months, both King Arthur and Emrys has amassed a large support for sorcery and even extended an offer amongst the druids and many others for allowing the best warriors into knighthood to bridge the gap between the knights and sorcerers Emrys leads."

"Then people will treat them as mud," the witch scoffed, "no matter what titles they hold."

"It is another step in the right direction. There are more people now than ever before allowing sorcery back into the land."

"But why wait, Mordred!" Morgana turned to the young man, her arms outstretched; her eyes burned with determination and fury. "Magic deserves to be free without care; that is what I want to achieve. You can join me Mordred, join me into finally creating a new world that our kin will be accepted."

"I don't think so," he said, somber. He looked at Morgana, his lips downturned. "I'm sorry Morgana, but I must agree with the route Arthur has chosen. I'm already prepared to leave for Camelot with a few others here to accept the invitation and join those at Camelot. I have faith that both the King and Emrys will succeed."

Her eyes narrowed, "Then you are as foolish as all the others."

"No. You are the foolish one, Morgana. You cannot use fear to stop the prejudice," Mordred said. He turned away from her and retreated to the cave, back to where the other druids were. He stopped before he went too far, and turned back to the witch, "Out of respect for our previous friendship and the debt I owe for my life, I hope you reconsider your stance on Camelot. If you act against the kingdom and her King, I will step in to stop you."

With that, the druid left Morgana, standing stock still at the mouth of the cave. She watched the man's retreating back, wondering if she could ever see anything but the boy she had knew him once as. Mordred was the last person she expected to run into and the last she thought would side with the likes of Arthur. It only saddened her that such a young mind could so easily be led astray.

"**Bedyrne ús! Astýre ús þanonweard!**" Morgana incanted, bringing a whirlwind around her that carried her far away from the druids. Once the magic settled and the wind died out, she found herself surrounded in the mist of the Isle of the Blessed. From within the ruins, she could make out the small camp; others who joined her cause.

With or without Mordred's help, the witch knew she must not allow anything to stop her plans. Even with the setback of not obtaining another group of druids, she knew it would only be a matter of time before she was ready and her plans could be set into motion. While he and that sect of druids refused to strike down the brutality of Camelot, the trip was not an altogether waste.

Information was a powerful weapon and Mordred had divulged quite a bit to her, unknowing the significance of his words. It seemed that her plans weren't entirely as impossible as she believed them to be, not when her dear brother made it so _easy_.

* * *

The man knelt before Merlin, glaring at the warlock as he waited for his fate. Behind the captive stood Gwaine and Percival who kept the man's arms pinned, ensuring he couldn't attempt to injure another while over the warlock's shoulder waited Leon, his eyes as concerned as his fellow knights as they carefully watched their friend. Merlin, however, focused on the restrained villager, his eyes unblinking as he stared down at the man.

"You killed a man in cold-blood," Merlin said, blunt.

"I killed a monster," the captive, Carac, sneered back, his eyes just as determined as the warlock's. He lifted his head up ever so slightly in pride.

"You confess to murder, then."

"Murder only involves the death of people, humans."

Merlin flinched; Gwaine's eyes narrowed and his grip tightened on the prisoner's arm, but stopped when the warlock lifted his hand towards him. The quick gesture eased the knight's grip but did nothing to lessen the pure hatred that painted his face. If the rogue knight could, the villager would be begging at Merlin's feet.

"So you killed him for being a druid," Merlin continued, "in front of his daughter no less. Do you know the punishment for murder?"

"I know the praises and rewards I deserve for ridding the land of such evils," Carac spat back. He struggled for a few seconds, trying and failing to shrug off the knights; however, it was hopeless, not with the determination the two had in keeping their prisoner in place. When the villager realized he could not break away, he chose a different tactic and twisted his head towards Leon and shouted, "Why the bloody hell am I being questioned by some servant? I demand to be released!"

Merlin restrained the smile from creeping onto his face rather aware of who everyone assumed he was. Since his promotion, the warlock had taken to wearing the finery of court only when propriety demanded him but otherwise stuck to his usual threadbare affair. He was far more comfortable with the garb and found the tendency most people had to underestimate him when he did not look the part of the Court Sorcerer to be as useful as it was during his days as manservant. Granted, he was not as invisible as he was in his days as a servant, especially not in the city, but he couldn't complain at any chances to stay out of the center of attention.

"He," Leon said his arms crossed as he glared down at Carac, "is the Court Sorcerer of Camelot. I suggest you treat him as such."

The effects were instantaneous. Carac flinched back against the knights, his face a mixture of horror and hatred as he processed just who stood in front of him. After a moment, he reined in his emotions and his sneer returned with even more viciousness than before. Whether or not he got over his fear enough to prevent him from attempting an attack on Merlin, both Gwaine and Percival weren't sure; they tightened their grip to ensure the man couldn't try anything.

"Then why am I speaking to such filth," he responded venomously, though he stared Merlin right in the eye.

"All things sorcery falls under my responsibility. Now answer this for me, aside from being a druid, what crime did that man do to warrant his death?"

He pressed his lips firmly together, stubborn against the known sorcerer. If he had his way, Merlin was confident that the blood-covered blade that laid paces away from their interrogation would already be sheathed in his own gut.

"I suggest you give me an answer. Did he do anything to force your hand, perhaps you had to defend yourself?"

'Yes," Carac snorted, "he dabbled in evil like all those other filthy druids. That _child_ of his is no less than a demon in human skin. If Arthur Pendragon was anything like his father but the cowardly-"

"_King_ Arthur is more than his father could ever hope to be and I suggest you refrain from insulting him further in front of me," Merlin said, his patience wearing thin. "You are in no position to argue the choices of others, not when your actions threaten the peace your King has been fighting to keep."

"No, I did the kingdom a favor. Peace will never be achieved, not with the corruption of sorcery tainting the land. If I could, I would kill you for what you are, monster," he snarled before he spat. The spittle landed against the warlock's cheek, though it did not elicit any reaction from him.

Merlin's face remained impassive as he straightened up and walked away, towards the small building that housed the recently orphaned girl. He did not care what happened to the man as he heard the struggle in what he assumed were the knights forcing the man to the village center. While they could bring him before the King, the time and effort to do so would be a waste, especially when Arthur had little time on hand. Better to allow the villagers to deal with one of their own and the knights would ensure the sentence was fair for both the victim and attacker. However, the verdict would be swift; the severity of taking another life only resulted in one sentence.

As he walked past Leon, the knight tried to stop him, his hand falling on his shoulders, already recognizing the mask Merlin wore that hid his roiling emotions below the surface. The warlock merely shrugged the hand off and continued on his way, he would rather put it behind him, just another victim for the struggle. It was not the first merciless killing brought on by prejudice nor would it be the last, yet each time it was more difficult.

Especially those words, those blasted words that threatened to undermine what little confidence he had in himself. Merlin clenched his hand, his skin turning white from the force as he reached the entrance to the house. He glanced to the horses tied to the post outside before looking to the shadows. Nothing yet, but he knew time was running out, he could already feel the panic seep into his veins, fighting to flood his systems. The words were all too familiar and he felt as if he could smell the rot that filled the damned dungeon or the cold blade bite into his skin…

He shook his head, just realizing that his fist rubbed against the scars that marked his chest beneath the thin fabric of his tunic, trying to ease remembered pain. He dropped his hand from his chest and clenched tight. His fingernails dug into the skin of his palm until it broke skin, bringing pain that helped root Merlin to the present so he may focus on the upcoming task. There was always time to deal with his personal problems, but he had to focus on the child the dead druid left behind.

He knocked softly against the door before stepping in at the sound of approval. The house was nearly as simple as his childhood home. It had two separate rooms, providing some privacy for the woman who resided in the home away from her business at the back of the house. Villagers often relied on local healers such as Beth to provide basic remedies and cares they would otherwise had to journey for in bigger cities. A stove sat in the corner with a small table and crude wooden chairs. To the opposite side of the room were a cabinet that held jars of herbs and ingredients the woman gathered and a small workbench with various equipment on top.

At the center there stood a simple wooden pallet for her patients that carried the wrapped body of the druid man as his young daughter sat on a stool beside him. Her hand clung to his cold hand while sobs wracked through her body. From what the warlock gathered, the two had arrived to the village looking for a new life proffered in the wake of magic legalization only to be greeted with senseless violence that followed the magical community as they continued to expose themselves to the people of Albion.

When Beth looked up from where she stood behind the druid, her hand resting gently against the girl's shoulder, she beckoned the sorcerer to go with her away from the mourning girl. Merlin followed the village healer to the back room, far enough away to keep from being overheard by the druidic girl.

"Does she have any family?" Merlin asked, hoping for the affirmative.

"No, just her father. From what I gathered, a bounty hunter captured her mother and took her to Camelot few years ago," Beth answered.

"Does she have anywhere to go?"

Beth nodded, "I can watch after her, I have an extra cot she could use and we still have contact with the druids they left if she wishes to return to them."

"Are there others like Carac that could threaten her? I'll rather not leave her ready for slaughter."

"There are a few disgruntled men still uncomfortable over the changes made," she answered, "but none with enough motivation to be a threat to her, not like Carac." She jerked her head to the direction of the living room. The warlock sighed at her words, wondering if he should ask but knew he would regret it if he didn't at least try to understand the actions of another.

"Motivation?"

"Years ago, before the Purge, he asked a sorceress to heal his sister. Unfortunately, the sorceress promised him his sister would survive but hadn't realize how far her illness progressed; in the end the child passed away. When Uther decreed that magic was evil, it convinced him that his sister died from sorcery."

"Watch over her then," Merlin said, "if anything happens, feel free to contact me in Camelot."

"Yes, Sir," she nodded.

"Call me Merlin," he responded.

Beth nodded, "Thank you Merlin, you're a good man."

The warlock gave her a small smile before he nodded his goodbye and made his way out the room and towards the exit. He was reaching for the door when a small, wavering voice called out to him.

"W-wait, Emrys."

Merlin looked at the door, tempted to just walk out and leave. The panic that had earlier threatened him was still there, waiting, for a moment of weakness. His restraint over such emotions was already spread thin. All it would take was a little emotional nudge to push him over the edge. Instead, he turned in place and gave her his full attention, waiting just as she had pleaded.

"When will it happen?" she asked, tears still falling from her eyes.

"When will what happen?" Merlin asked gently.

"The Golden Age," the girl murmured. "When will it happen, when can any one of us feel safe again?"

Merlin hung his head, trying and failing to come up with an answer that assured the girl that the world was not as vicious as she was led to believe. How could he assure her if he wasn't sure himself? Especially when her father's body laid stretched before her as the truth on the way of the world.

"I don't know," he said in a low tone, "but that doesn't mean it won't happen. People need time."

The warlock stepped away from the door and crouched before the girl. He met her eyes evenly, searching those large scared browns. After a moment he whispered, "I'm sorry for your loss, I wish I was here earlier to prevent it, but whatever you do, do not lose hope in the future."

With that, Merlin made his way to leave the house again, his fingers itching to riffle through his saddlebag for a certain flask. From the corner of his eyes, he thought he saw some strange movements that only quickened his escape. It was when he had the door open and was about to step out when the girl spoke again.

"He wasn't a sorcerer," she mumbled. "My father couldn't do magic worth a damn. That man just assumed since he was a druid."

It tempted him, to turn around and be that support this girl needed. He knew he should do more than spoken words to help the girl; however, he had nothing left to give, nothing but promises that even he wasn't sure was true. Imagined or not, he could feel the accusation the orphan shot at him as he left the house, unable to stomach the tragedy that befell the child, a tragedy that was no less easy as it repeated itself throughout the kingdom.

He stepped out into the sun and made his way down the side for the horses that were hastily tied to a post. With only four horses around the post, it was easy for Merlin to pick out the brown mare he rode on for the patrol. He walked beside the horse and reached for one of the saddlebags; it was also only when he was trying to unbuckle the strap of his bag did he notice the trembles had already started across his hand. With some difficulties, Merlin unclasped the strap and reached into his bag, pulling out a simple leather flask.

He walked to the side of the house, leaned against the wall, and slid to the ground with his legs folded close to his chest. As calmly as possible, Merlin pulled the flask open and brought it to his lips. With some hesitance, the warlock tilted his head back and drunk the concoction, struggling to keep the bile down. When he believed he drunk enough, he set the flask aside on the ground next to him, Merlin pressed his forehead against his knees, trying to steady his quickening breath.

The stench of dungeon was overwhelming and he could practically hear the scurrying feet of rats that often accompanied him during his stay. Phantom chains wrapped around his wrist and his body went cold. The sun beamed down on him, but he felt none of its warmth, not when his mind remained encaged inside the dark hole from months ago. Shadows pulsed around him, reaching for him yet unable to touch, not since he shielded against it with the repulsive potion at his side. It didn't seem enough, though, to prevent the shadows appearance.

He grimaced again when he took another swig, noting with concern the empty weight of the flask. He could only hope that it would be enough to get him to Camelot before his demons consumed him. Frozen fingers slid across the flesh of his neck, encircling him; ghost like tendril with all the intent but none of the weight to go through with the task. A whimper resounded by his ear, coaxing him to the dark; a mere whisper in the wind compared to the usual delusions that materialized without the potion's protection.

Curled up on the side of the home that housed the dead body of the most recent victim, trembling, was the last position Merlin wanted any of the knights to find him in, especially when that knight was Gwaine . He tensed when he saw the knight approach, ready for the questioning. Surprising enough, the knight didn't speak a word when he found the warlock, taking the moment to take in the pathetic condition Merlin allowed himself to descend before dropping down beside him, stretching back against the wall, face skyward as he watched the clouds.

"You okay, mate?" Gwaine asked his voice soft as his hand gestured to the warlock's trembling form.

"I'm fine," Merlin replied. The wavering of his voice combined with his disintegrated condition did nothing to convince Gwaine that he was anywhere near to this supposed fine. Merlin knew that his response was weak at best and it would only coerce Gwaine to dig further for the truth.

"Sure you are," Gwaine snorted as his eyes rolled, confirming Merlin's fear that the knight wouldn't back down anytime soon. "Don't make me go tell Princess you're lying to us again."

"Look, I'm as fine as I'll ever be," Merlin sighed. He leaned back as well, allowing his hands to fall into his lap, fiddling with the flask. He shivered once but forced his body to relax against the wall. "It's just some… things about all of this is getting to me."

""Enough to cause you to hide away with a flask?"

"It's just water."

"Yeah, sure it is," Gwaine retorted, "and I don't suppose you're willing to share some of this 'water'?"

"None left," Merlin shook the flask with a frown. With Gwaine present, he managed to divert the shadows further away out of pure stubbornness to keep from giving the knight more reason to be concerned. There was too much work to be done and he would rather have everyone focus on Camelot than him. That last sludge was all there was left in the flask; it would just fall unto Merlin to make do.

"Merlin, this is not the first time I've seen you with a flask. Whatever's in there, it isn't water and I've seen you nearly gag every time you drink from it." The knight turned to the ex-manservant, his hand grasping at his shoulder as Gwaine gave him a small shake, "You had that flask on you after the first patrol you went on. As much as you fooled most of those who were on that particular trip, those of us who know you best know better."

"It was nothing, I just-"

"No, that wasn't just nothing. You collapsed s_creaming_, Merlin."

"I wasn't screaming," Merlin scoffed as he clenched his fist; his nails dug painfully into his skin. The shadows were closing in on him again.

"Perhaps not, but you were close to it."

Silence fell on the two, uncomfortable and tense as the knight waited for an explanation from his friend. From the corner of his eyes, Gwaine watched the warlock, waiting and hoping he would provide the answers he sought. The Court Sorcerer's lips remained sealed, not intending to divulge any of the secrets that Gwaine wanted to hear. It was all he could do not to outright yell and shake the man for his stubbornness, infuriated about being left in the dark as usual.

He was about to do just that when he noticed the other two knights returning from the village center, their lips moving in a conversation he assumed was on the villager they left to the mercy of his neighbors. If there was a chance he could get anything out of Merlin, Gwaine knew it would be gone once the others joined. Already he noticed the way the warlock retreated behind his mask, a mask that effectively hid the pain behind those blues. The knight wouldn't give up when it came to Merlin, but knew it was time to back off and give him time to think.

"Look, mate," he said as he pushed off the wall, stretching his arms out, his chainmail clinking, "you need to stop."

"Stop what?" Merlin asked as he too stood and faced Gwaine, his eyes daring the knight.

"Hiding," Gwaine said, blunt. He sighed and hung his head, his hands paced on his hips before continuing, "The time of hiding is over, Merlin. Unlike before, you don't need to hide away and pretend nothing's wrong. There is nothing to keep you in the shadows, nothing hanging over your head to threaten you. If what you're hiding causes you to need that," he nodded his head to the flask still in the warlock's hands, "then it is a problem that concerns not only me, but everyone else."

Gwaine walked to his horse, his hands already working to untying the reins from the post, "I guess we'll have to wait until you are ready to talk, just know that you got even Princess worried."

Leon and Percival arrived, keeping Merlin from spewing more excuses. Instead, the warlock joined the knight by the horses, quickly stashing the flask back into his saddlebags; he didn't need more knights questioning it, though he doubt Gwaine would stay silent on the matter. He ignored the conversation that continued behind him as he adjusted the saddle and untied the reins; he would rather leave this village behind him, push Carac from his mind and his victim. No need to mope over what was done or what would continue to happen, as much as he hated it.

Once readied, they all mounted their horses and nudged them onwards, heading in the direction of Camelot; the long journey left them yearning for the comfort the walls of the city would provide them. They were following reports from the kingdom's outskirt on movements of a group of sorcerers who had been causing trouble to the kingdom since the abolition of the anti-magic laws. Even with the extension of peace, there were still a few sorcerers, even druids, who had long memories and unforgiving hearts. Either they didn't trust Camelot's change in attitude or the damage done was too much for them to accept it. The added rumors that they were in cohorts with Morgana Pendragon did nothing to ease the fears Merlin had of the overall situation.

With the witch very much a threat to the kingdom, Merlin needed to pull himself together. He was the only one capable of dealing with her, the only one strong enough and he didn't need to be cowering in some corner allowing the shadows to consume him. Arthur and Camelot depended on him to keep Morgana at bay, and Merlin didn't want a repeat of last time. Distraction was the last thing he needed.

Those shadows were getting stronger, the victims of his past coming back in full to haunt him, even with the barrier the potion provided him. The longer he drank it, the more he needed to push back the images. It was becoming a less effective means to maintain his delusions; he was on borrowed time before the hallucinations reigned over his mind, something he knew would happen, when he discovered the concoction. Those books provided as much information on the matter.

The sun rose high over him as he mulled over his thoughts, already thinking of the chest that lay hidden in his chambers. No one needed to know of its existence, especially not Gwaine who was more than likely to prattle about it to the other knights. He would need to get to it as soon as they reached the castle; he could almost feel the pulsing from the shadows as their dark tendril tried again and again to form into his loved ones. The restraint he held to not scream out or hide was at its limit, all under the suspicious looks Gwaine shot at him; Merlin wondered if the knight would get a kink his neck for all the times he turned his head back. He hoped so, as petty as it was, since he was sure the knight was what coerced Leon to approach him.

"How are you?" Leon asked as he nudged his horse back to walk alongside Merlin. Ahead of them, the warlock caught yet another look from Gwaine.

"Have you spoken to Gwaine just now?"

"No, but those words weren't easy for you to hear."

"It's nothing new," Merlin sighed.

"True," Leon agreed. "That doesn't make it any easier."

"It never does, years under Uther's influence taught me that," Merlin said, his hand rubbing at the back of his head. "Don't worry."

Leon watched him for a second before he nodded and kicked his horse faster, to the front of the group. From up ahead, Gwaine glanced at his fellow knight, silently asking for answers, but Leon shook his head and shrugged as he passed. Next to him, Percival watched the exchange, as quiet as ever, knowing if Gwaine couldn't get anything from the warlock then he doubt he would be able to do much to help. Still, all the knights noticed how pale Merlin became after the confrontation with Carac and the ever present trembles as he clutched tightly onto the reins.

It brought Gwaine back to the patrol Merlin had first participated; back when the warlock had Gwaine tricked into believing he was okay. At the time, the sorcerer had been trying to convince Gaius he was well enough to help the King rather than forced to sit back surrounded by paperwork as he ordered sorcerers to take their roles under Arthur. When the physician grudgingly agreed, ha also ensured that the knights knew to keep an eye on the ex-manservant.

The patrol had started out normal, if a bit tense since they believed they were to find Morgana attacking a local village. The reports proved wrong, as many would, just people on edge so soon after Morgana's rule over the kingdom. They made sure that the witch was nowhere in sight before they left the small village and ventured back to Camelot. The entirety of the trip was made simple enough when the threat was a delusion born from paranoia; they simply had to return to the city and Merlin's first time out would be successful. If only they hadn't taken a break from their ride to sit by that lake.

The signs were there, signaling the unstable nature of the warlock. Gwaine put it to his recovering injuries when he noted the way Merlin flinched at odd moments or clench his fist when no one saw. No one thought much of any odd habits either, not when he developed them after his imprisonment. Avoidance of the dark, sudden freezes; the man hadn't even gone near let alone set foot in the dungeon since the day he was rescued.

Had Gwaine confronted his friend, would Merlin allowed him in to his secrets? The knight doubt it. That night, Merlin retreated to his chambers with no words of explanation. Not even Arthur could coax him out. He disappeared in those rooms for a day before he reemerged the happy sorcerer, as if nothing changed since his days as the King's servant, though the unusual tendencies he developed from imprisonment remained.

Now the knight watched the sorcerer, wondering when the man would finally admit the obvious and tell his friends what was going on behind those shivers. If he refused to let them in, Gwaine knew he would have to step in and force the matter, He was confident that the Princess would agree when they reached the castle again, especially once he hears that something had shaken Merlin enough to resort to drink. While Gwaine personally loved an excuse for a night on the mead, he couldn't sit back and watch his friend use it as a crutch.

Then to the Princess it was, and by the looks of the warlock, the faster the better.

The small group reached the walls of the city, where the guards nodded their greetings by the gate, while the sun made its slow descent towards the horizon. As they passed through the streets, Gwaine observed the various reactions and opinions of the people towards magic. While outside of Camelot, Merlin's garb showed nothing but a servant, inside the city everyone was familiar to the raven-haired kindhearted man. Most, months later, learned to accept the warlock, either greeting him with kindness and gratitude or turning their back, uneasy around sorcery but understanding the lack of threat Merlin posed against them.

What complicated matters, however, were those few who sneered behind the Court Sorcerer's back as they passed them. Though Merlin gave little notice to them, Gwaine still couldn't stop but glare at anyone who dared to disrespect the one they owed their lives too. Without him, the kingdom would be left in shambles years ago under the merciless whims of vengeful sorcerers. Few of the people noticed the knight's glare, too focused on their hatred to care who was around the sorcerer while other flinched and looked away.

Gwaine broke away from his glare as their horses marched into the courtyard, ready to grab Merlin to drag to Arthur. Before he could speak out, however, Merlin was already dismounting his mare and handing the reins to the nearest stable boy. He charged up the steps and disappeared behind the large oak doors, leaving Gwaine to share uneasy glances with Percival before he approached Leon.

"Leon," Gwaine called, "I'm going to report to Princess."

"You're going to report to Arthur?" Leon asked, his eyebrows rose in surprise. He searched the knight's face, looking for any signs of mischief the drunkard was known for around the King. After a few seconds, his face softened as he continued with a nod, "Report to the King then."

"Will do," Gwaine nodded with a terse smile. He left his friends to deal with his horse and strode into the castle. When he entered, he debated on following the warlock to where he assumed to be his chambers, but shook his head and turned to the direction of Arthur's chambers where he would most likely find the man busy over scrolls. As he traversed the maze of halls, he paid little mind to the servants that moved around him, lost in thoughts, until he reached the doors that led into Arthur's chambers.

As usual, the rogue walked in without bothering to knock, in part in habit as well as to irritate the royal. Upon entering, he found Arthur hunched over a desk perusing scrolls of what he assumed was on the logistics revolving around the upcoming visitors, as he expected to find the King of Camelot. The King looked up for a second before he continued looking over the parchments.

"How difficult is it to understand the concept of knocking," Arthur grumbled as he picked up his quill and scribbled some notes.

"Just keeping you on your toes, Princess."

Arthur sighed, "Seeing as you're here, where's Leon?"

"Not here, I offered to give you the report," Gwaine shrugged.

"And?"

"Your sister is looking for allies," Gwaine responded, his arm crossed. "Within the boundaries of the kingdom, there has been four confirmed times Morgana approached a druid camp looking for supporters, several more rumored in other kingdoms. We also suspect she's approaching individual sorcerers."

"Anything on what she is attempting to do then?" Arthur asked as he set aside the scrolls to give his full attention on the knight. They needed to be prepared for when the witch made her next move if they wanted to keep her from taking the throne again.

"No," Gwaine said, grim.

"Of course," Arthur sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Good work, you're-"

"Not done with my report," the knight interrupted. When he was sure he got the King' attention, Gwaine continued, "We ran into a problem on the ride home."

"What problem?" Arthur asked, his eyes narrowed.

"Another druid was killed."

The King's reaction was immediate as he closed his eyes and placed a hand on his forehead, his elbow rested against the desk. Another casualty for peace.

"I assume you handled the situation and the one responsible was held accountable?"

"We handled the situation," Gwaine said, carefully choosing his words, "some better than others."

Arthur instantly looked back at Gwaine, unease settled in the pit of his stomach, "What happened out there?"

Gwaine approached closer to the desk, close enough to lean down and plant both of his hands on the surface as he stared down the concerned eyes of the King.

"Something the man said shook Merlin," Gwaine said, his voice low. "I found him huddled by the horses with a flask full of what I can assume is alcohol, maybe mead. Arthur, he's doing it again."

"Damnit," Arthur muttered under his breath to which Gwaine nodded in agreement.

"Last time I stood back and gave him the room both you and Gaius requested of me, and only because he needed to heal. This time, I won't be as distant."

"Fine," Arthur shot back, "but wait until I talk to him."

Gwaine shook his head, "With Samhain so soon and the added royals to cater, I doubt you would have time. Let me handle it."

"No," Arthur differed as he rolled the parchment and placed it neatly on the desk next to the quill. "He needs to deliver his report on the patrol anyways. I'll speak to him." He pushed away from the desk and made for the doors of his chambers where he stood for the knight to make his leave.

Gwaine stood by, observing the tired eyes and stress lines that marked his King's face. He vaguely wondered when the demands of running a kingdom would break down his two closest friends, but immediately shook the thought away. If there was anyone he knew who could handle it, it was Arthur and Merlin. Still, he would do as he said to the King; he wouldn't be the passive observer this time.

"Okay," Gwaine said, "but I'm still going to press him for answers. Whatever he's hiding, whatever's affecting him, I will find out. This is something that shouldn't be contained as long as he had and I'm tired of standing by, watching my friend destroy himself."

"Then we are in agreement," Arthur said quietly. "Merlin needs to realize that he is safe amongst friends."

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**AN: Well there it is, the continuation of Loyal 'Til the End. With how hectic both my life and this story became/is, sorry for the rather long wait. This will be regularly updated like Loyal in which it would be either every week or biweekly updates (I'll let you know when the next update will take two weeks), so don't worry too much on that.**

**So, I'm a bit iffy about this chapter, I had to rewrite it twice before I finally settled for this. There is a lot going on in the sequel, it just makes me head spin every time I think of what I have planned! Thank you all for your patience, it took too long to finally get this posted, especially since I wanted it done at latest two weeks after I posted the epilogue/prologue.**

**Next update will be July 30th, if it changes I'll let you all know on my profile**

**A side note on my other fic, the next update really has no set date since I can't seem to force myself to write it. I'll mostly update as the chapters get finished, but seeing as I only have 500 words of the next chapter, it won't be quick.**

**Let me know what you think, especially with Mordred o,O.**

**Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.**

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The shadows grew more out of control, pulsing and reaching to pull him down from the horse and break him. With the steady bouncing in the saddle along the mare's movements, the bright sunny day that shined down on him, and the stream of conversation that floated through the air, nothing diverted Merlin's lingering eyes from the monsters that stalked him. Temptation to kick the horse into a full canter flooded him, a temptation he resisted to keep from giving the knight's reason in their suspicions.

Still, the time it took for the patrol to reach the castle was too much for the warlock's control. Calm became a nearly impossible emotion as he all but leapt off his saddle, his satchel in hand, and thrust the reins into the nearest servant's face. With no care for the watching knight, not when the darkness began to converge into a singular figure at the center of the courtyard, Merlin raced up the castle steps and through the door, weaving around the people who yelped in surprise.

He sped deep inside the citadel, taking the most efficient and direct route he knew to his chambers. Silently he cursed over the distance of the rooms, knowing that had he not been given his own quarters in the castle, he would already be in the back room in Gaius' chambers, getting the help he sought. However, it was unbecoming for those of the court to live in a room fit for only a lowly servant and the tight quarters limited him from delving fully into magic research and study. His new chambers provided plenty of room for his purposes while also giving clearing room for Gaius' on work, his new apprentice Alison, and Alice who showed up soon after the ban lifted.

Only problem with his new chambers was that damned distance.

When he reached the well-worn wooden door, his hand settled on the latch while his other reached for the key stowed away in the satchel he managed to snatch off the horse. With shaky hands, he inserted and turned the key, opened the door, and slid inside. As he stepped inside, he could feel the frigid breath of death hover over his shoulders, a low giggle drifted into his ears. Merlin slammed the door behind him but gave the eerie presence little mind; he knew what it was. Stopping to give it a minute of his time only gave it a minute to get stronger.

Instead, he rushed through the room, passed the tables covered with parchments and maps where he tossed his bag, making sure to pocket the leather flask, to the small spiral staircase in the back corner of the room. He climbed the steps to the top, skipping the second floor to go into the third. He burst into his sleeping quarters and went to the left corner, the furthest away from the door. The familiarity of the cool stone and the small etchings he had long ago inscribed into the wall signaled the correct location as his eyes glowed gold and he allowed his magic to permeate the walls. It urged the stone to move and form into a new shape, flow like water out from its original structure to a small ledge at the top of the newly formed hole until a chest appeared.

When the opening was large enough, Merlin released his spell and pulled the chest from the wall. The wooden chest was well made with two hard leather bands that ran over the top and down either side. It was rather average chest aside from its center were there was an iron latch and lock that held no discernible keyhole. Magic moved under Merlin's command once more as he tinkered with the internal mechanisms until the padlock unlocked and fell to the ground with a clanged. He lifted the latch up and opened the chest.

He beheld eight glass vials, each filled to the brim with sludge, and wasted no time to grab one, remove the seal, and chug the contents, desperate to stop the ever-growing shadows around him. He shuddered and leaned his head against the stone wall, allowing the potion to settle in his stomach while he kept his gagging at bay; it would not do to expel the elixir before it could take effect. He wrapped his arms around himself and clutched the material of his jacket, waiting for the silent whispers to go away.

The slow progression helped none on easing his nerves as he drummed his fingers against his sides, hoping to distract himself from his surroundings. Time marched on and the shadows shriveled away, retreating back to the corner from which they came from. The shudders slowed and his breathing evened out until he stopped altogether, frozen where he sat, and then relaxed as the potion finally took full effect and chased away the nightmares.

He shook his head and turned back to the chest, his fingers glided atop each row of vials, almost admiring the work he put forth to create this secret stock of liquid salvation until his fingertips settled on a small wooden box that rested at the center; the island of despair amongst his salvation. With hesitation, Merlin pulled it from the chest and lightly stoked the sides, debating over allowing his masochistic urge to open the container.

After further deliberations, he opened it.

Inside was a circular object wrapped in piece of old blue cloth speckled with the dark brown of dried blood. The mere sight of it sent a chill up Merlin's spine though it did not stop him from pulling it out to rest onto his lap. It had taken him weeks to amass the courage before he was finally able to retrieve both the cloth and the particular object it wrapped.

It had been the only occasion since his imprisonment that he returned to the dungeons, with only determination that kept him from running and screaming from their dark depths. He had been at his wit's end with shadows of his past and present haunting him at every corner. He even went to the dragons, when his stubbornness was not enough to keep him away, to find a solution to combat against the residual effects of the armlet. When they provided no help but suggest telling his friends the truth, Merlin was forced to desperate measures.

Besides, why trouble his friends?

When he was well enough to walk on his own, or enough to walk the distance, Merlin snuck into the dungeon, unable to stop the anxiety that increased every step he took. Even his magic seemed shaken as he distracted the guards, the practiced ease in which he slid by their watch almost nonexistent as tripped by. He stumbled through the halls, passed the cells, as the familiar stench flooded his senses, clogging his mind with nothing but the fear the smell brought. When he had finally arrived at the heavyset door to his personal hell, he bent over and vomited what meager food Gaius forced down his gullet. The heaving continued even when there was nothing to expel.

With a choked sob, the warlock got back to his feet and stumbled into the cell, his feverish eyes searching the room for his goal. He first spotted the cloth, an old neckerchief he assumed was the very same he wore when Morgana capture him. He remembered how she ripped it off his neck and tossed it aside like trash. It sat in a heap in close to the wall; when his eyes strayed to the left of the fabric that was when he spotted the object he wanted.

Frantically, with a small burst of energy, he sprinted to the far side of the room, grabbed the neckerchief, and used it to scoop up the object; the thin fabric protected him from the ill effects. From there he scurried as far away from the cell as he could. In what felt like an instant, he was already hiding the item under his floorboards where his book and father's carving still remained, then spent the rest of the night calming his frantic heart. The hallucinations that night stood quiet, openly mocking, as they watched the warlock struggle against his memories as it tried to bring him back to his imprisonment.

Staring down at the object with apprehension, Merlin remembered the terrible revelation he reached that night, what drove him to seek out its evil presence. There was more damage done during the torment, more than what could be considered the norm for a man to suffer as he had in torture. Gaius comforted and warned him of the difficulties previous prisoners of war faced once they returned to a normal life, how he would have to live with the grueling memories of what was done. What the old physician hadn't realized was how those very same memories exasperated the effects of a particularly vicious artifact of magic.

The armlet.

Or what he later learned, the Mandragorae Armilla. Only the most sinister of hearts could create such an abomination. With a carefully crafted spell inscribed into the inside of the bracelet and twisted choice of ingredients, it was enchanted to bring the most painful of torments. Merlin had to delve in the most obscures tomes of magic before he discovered the true nature of the artifact; what he found made his blood go cold.

The one comfort, if he could call it that, was the potion he discovered along with the grueling details of the enchantment. The Mandragorae Elixir was all that kept him from the edge of insanity. The temporary solution he relied too heavily on; this elixir was really only created for a singular purpose, and any extended use to keep the delusions at bay wasn't what the creator had planned for the mixture.

Fingertips traced the outline of the band lightly before it curled beneath one of the frayed edges, careful not to touch the armlet underneath, and tugged it open. Lying on his lap, on the center of his old blue neckerchief, was the black armlet he grew all too familiar with during his time with Morgana. It was as black as he remembered and its very presence, exposed for the world to see, left a hopeless feeling in his heart. In a sudden moment of insanity, he had a sudden urge to touch it but shook his head and wrapped the cloth back, shoving the idiotic thought out of his mind.

He had no idea why he kept the armlet, not when he already discovered its secrets. An odd sense of nostalgia perhaps, or just pure masochism that steadied his hand every time he attempted to rid his life of its presence; there was also the added issue that he had no idea how he could dispose of a dangerous subject. The last thing he wanted was allowing it to fall into the wrong hands. Still, it made him uneasy and his sleep restless knowing he was close to the object of his nightmares.

For a second, he tugged the chain that hid under the neckerchief around his neck, pulling it out from under his shirt until finally his ring popped out. In shined under what little light managed to reach it from a nearby window, making the small image sparkle in his face. He enveloped it in his hand, gave it a small squeeze, before he tucked it back under his shirt.

A small, constant reminder of who he was; he needed to be strong.

Merlin replaced the armlet back into the box and returned the whole thing to the chest before he had any more brilliant ideas to wear the artifacts. Instead, he reached for the leather flask he placed in his jacket pocket and the vial with the remaining elixir. With practiced ease, the warlock filed the flask with the concoction until he emptied the entire vial of its contents. There was only enough to last him the day, he would have to find the time to make more to replenish his stock. He already tempted fate when he brought just enough of the elixir to last him the patrol; he didn't take into account the possibility of side trips.

As he was putting the vial away and closing the chest, the sound of the door opening and closing echoed from downstairs. Quickly and calmly, Merlin shoved the chest back into its niche and waved his hand over the stone, allowing the ledge to melt back in place. All that remained was a nearly unmark wall with a rune too small to spot at a glance.

When he was sure the chest was hidden, Merlin stood from the ground, straightened his clothes before passed both hands up his face and through his hair. He needed to be calm and collected for there was only two people who entered his chambers unannounced and neither of them he wanted to see his current state. Plastering a smile across his face, Merlin climbed down the steps to the first floor only to be met by the very irritated eyes of his king.

"Hypocrisy is very unbecoming, Sire," Merlin jested, "especially with all the whining you do on knocking."

"I'm the king, I don't need to knock in my own castle," Arthur scoffed, though his lips didn't even twitch into a smile. Damn that Gwaine and his mouth…

"Then what brings you to my tower," the warlock asked as he traversed the room to one of the tables; his hand shifted through the parchment, eyes skimming but not quite reading. After promoting the servant to Court Sorcerer, Arthur felt a need to give what he called proper quarters rather than the small back room of Gaius' chambers. The tower not only provided a place to sleep and space to research magic away from paranoid eyes, but also a work place in which Merlin could interact and instruct other sorcerers as he saw fit.

"I need your report, _Mer_lin. It is, after all, part of your job description."

"Still a prat as usual," Merlin mumbled under his breath before saying aloud, "The report from Gwaine should be enough."

Arthur shook his head, "How do you know Gwaine delivered the report?"

"I know Gwaine well enough to know he wouldn't just let things be," Merlin retorted. He sighed, pinched his nose, and then spoke again. "Morgana's planning something that I can't even guess what and there's another orphaned girl in the world. Nothing to note about the magic end, and I still can't sense her."

The blond walked further into the room, astride the table, and watched Merlin work through the parchment scattered on the surface. From where he stood, he noted the warlock's tired eyes, the skin beneath darkened. Had Gwaine not mentioned anything, Arthur would have put the visible strain to stress the warlock's responsibilities placed on him.

"Now are you going to tell me what is going on?" he demanded, his eyes leaving no room to argue.

The warlock stopped messing with parchments in hand and let out a breath, "There is nothing going on."

"Then why don't I believe that?"

"Because the dollophead believes what he wants."

"I'm not joking, Merlin."

"I suppose you're not," Merlin mumbled as he met the King's eyes.

He could tell him, Merlin mused, about the hallucinations born from the darkest of magic, the damage inflicted on him. He knew they deserved to know when it caused so much strife that deterred him from concentrating on the more important problems of Camelot. However, while Merlin knew Arthur saw his exhaustion, he too noticed the fatigued way the King carried himself. With so much he was taking on, not even the Pendragon's pride could do as much.

He would tell him one thing, just the one he had already known from the start. Merlin would rather wait until after the royals had their meeting before worrying the King with his own problems. Arthur needed all the support he could get, and the warlock was confident he could hold out until the peace talks disbanded. Besides, it wasn't as if he was lying to Arthur, just not telling the whole truth.

"It happened again," he murmured.

Arthur raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"Carac, the man who killed the druid," Merlin explained, "said some things that goaded some flashes."

"Of the dungeon," Arthur asked carefully, worried about broaching the sensitive topic.

The warlock collapsed in another chair besides Arthur and shuddered, "For a few seconds, it was like I was still there."

Arthur leaned back in his chair; his hand swept through his hair, "Next time it happens, tell me."

"You don't ne-"

"That was an order Merlin; I can't afford for you to deal with this alone."

"I understand, Arthur, but I can handle it and my duties just fine."

Arthur shook his head, "No, Merlin. I don't doubt that you could handle your duties, but you don't deserve to destroy yourself, not after everything we went through."

Merlin snorted, "Does it matters."

"You're my friend, of course it matters." The warlock's head whipped back at Arthur, shocked, to which Arthur responded in irritation, "It's true."

Merlin smiled and shook his head; it seemed he still worried the king in the end, "You're getting dangerously close to feelings there, Sire."

"_Mer_lin."

"Don't worry Arthur, I'll be fine."

"Then you will give me that flask you've been carrying around with you."

"Flask?"

"Gwaine told me. If I'm going to trust you in believing you are fine, then you don't need whatever is in there to help. Losing yourself in drink is not a solution."

"You never had a problem before with me going to the tavern when you thought that was where I was spending all my time or when Gwaine drinks his weight at the Rising Sun."

"Like I can control Gwaine! There is no need to have another alcoholic to handle."

"Fine," Merlin grumbled as a he got up and extended his hand, mumbling a quick spell. From the above room, a flask zoomed down the stairs into Merlin's waiting hand, which he then tossed to the king. It was a simple enough matter to give Arthur a different flask when he didn't know the flask he was referring to was tucked inside his jacket.

"Thank you," Arthur nodded. "Now stop all the-"

A sharp knock resounded from the door, interrupting Arthur in the process. When the king glared at him, Merlin shrugged and waved his hand at the door; like he could control who came by his chambers. With a soft click, it swung open, allowing the visitor to enter the chambers.

"Sire," the sorcerer, Aubrey, greeted with a small bow to Arthur before turning to Merlin. "Lord Emrys, there's trouble in the lower town."

"Trouble? What happened?" Arthur asked before Merlin could speak up. Together the two stood up and strode to the sorcerer, following him out of the chambers.

"The white dragon, Aithusa Sir, has appeared," Aubrey began, his eyes meeting Merlin as if asking why the dragon made her presence known.

"Aithusa? Why would she incite any reaction from the townspeople enough to cause notable trouble?" Arthur asked. "It had already been established that she was an ally of the kingdom."

"True Sire," Aubrey agreed, "but a band of merchants from King Olaf's land are here selling their goods. The last couple of days since their arrivals have been tense and I fear the dragon's presence pushed them over the edge."

"What have you ordered the others to do?" Merlin asked, assessing what kind of situation they were about to walk in to.

"Nothing Sir, I didn't want to exasperate the situation by adding magic to the situation. We were already careful enough with sorcery when they first arrived."

Merlin nodded as he turned around the corner down the hall, already thinking of a command he could give Aithusa so they may speak in a more appropriate place. Her sudden appearance didn't give him confidence that she brought good news.

"Arthur," Merlin called the king's attention away from Aubrey to him, "I'll handle it from here, no need to get involved."

"Not going to happen,' Arthur said. "I'm still not done talking with you and I can help with the merchants, especially if they are from another kingdom."

"Then I'll focus on Aithusa."

Aubrey led the way, out of the castle and down the road to the lower town where shops and stands cluttered the space with traders and merchants shouting about their wares. While their pace was quick, the frantic way Aubrey wrung his hand made Merlin want to reach the traders quicker. By the looks of the obstruction ahead of the road, the sorcerer's nervousness was for good reason.

Where people usually crowded and shouted their bargains over each other, there was instead a crowd of no more than twenty men holding torches and a variety of tools; from their stalls, women and children hid as peeked nervously at the sky. A few men also brandished swords, either towards the sky or at others, two men and two women, who blockaded the group from moving further up the streets with hands raised in peace.

Merlin recognized the four and wondered what the merchants hoped to accomplish against four of his sorcerers and a dragon, but dismissed the thought immediately when he spotted said dragon hovering over the street. She hung in one spot, her wings worked to keep her in place. From the looks of her face, the warlock noted the amused, almost smug, look in which she watched the chaos below.

Well it was time to end her fun, especially when it caused them so much trouble.

Merlin closed his eyes, prepared to command the dragon. He searched his core for the necessary words as he reached within himself to the connection he and his kin shared. However, when Aithusa noticed Merlin, standing stock still preparing to utter a command, she huffed in amusement; a tendril of smoke leaked from her nostrils. With a spout of fire, she roared and twisted her body away with an angled tail and straightened wings. Unsurprised, Merlin watch as she headed straight for the castle, most likely to land in the courtyard where people were far more accustomed to her presence than in the lower town.

With a shrug, Merlin turned to the crowd and acquainted himself to the mood of the crowd. They calmed when they saw the dragon leave, but many of the glares went from the sky to him after they recognized his face. With a small gesture, the warlock directed the sorcerers to step away from the rising anger and allow Arthur to confront the crowd while Aubrey motioned nearby people to back away. They could handle a riot if it threatened the people of Camelot, but with these traders being visitors of another kingdom who's King needed to be persuaded on the advantages of sorcery in the coming negotiations, they needed to thread cautiously.

"You expect us to stay calm when you have that beast waiting to kill us all?" one of the men shouted out against Arthur, pulling Merlin's attention to him. When it came to diplomacy, Arthur was more capable than the warlock was. Still, he needed to be ready in case it got violent; already he was going through a mental list of spells to best restrain the men. He would not let them harm his king.

"Aithusa has no ill intent for you or the people of Camelot; there is no reason to panic."

"We've heard of the destruction that follows in a dragon's wake. It will be foolish to turn a blind eye to the danger."

"I assure you, she comes in peace. My Court Sorcerer has already called her away and I'm more than willing to allow you to speak to her if you wish to confirm she will not attack."

The people around the man shouted in anger against Arthur's suggestion, demanding that he kill the white dragon or to arrest the Dragonlord before either had a chance in killing them and their families. The man who spoke took charge again and silenced the group with a hand. With a measuring look at Arthur, he said, "You are trying to do the impossible, Sire."

"Impossible?"

He nodded, "Peace cannot be made with sorcery; magic is not to be trusted. Our king knows this as well as all the others of Albion, or had King Uther not taught you anything?"

"My father," Arthur said as his voice took on a somber tone, "was a just king in many respects, but his hatred prevented him from being the great king I once believed him to be."

"Then tell me, Sire," the man continued, "what proof have you to me and my fellow merchants that magic is anything but evil? What keeps the sorcerers at your back from attacking or how are we to know you are naught but a puppet for them?"

"Because we wish to seek peace as much as you do," Merlin said as he stepped beside Arthur.

The man grew uncomfortable when the warlock spoke up, but refused to step away. "Words are simple, sorcerer, and I can't accept this on the words of a sorcerer alone, not when I was taught to not trust them. We will leave tonight; I do not wish to entangle my family with the likes of magic. I tried to tolerate it, but the danger here grows daily and there are safer places in which I can sell my wares."

The other merchants nodded their agreements; a few even returned to their stalls and began packing their supplies, whispering to their families to ready their belongings. With one last attempt, Arthur called out before the rest could turn away, "King Olaf has already accepted my invitation to Camelot to draw up a new treaty. He is open minded enough to at least listen to my requests."

"Then we shall wait for his decree," the trader said. "I trust King Olaf, he never led our kingdom astray. But until he says otherwise on the matter, I will not trade in this kingdom, not when my king distrusts magic." With that, he turned away to his own stand and joined the others in packing. No one dared to look at Arthur or any of the sorcerers as they got their merchandise in order.

With the crowd diffused, Arthur turned to Merlin, his brow furrowed in frustration as he said in a restrained tone, "Why is Aithusa here?"

"I don't know, she left before I could do or say anything to her," Merlin shrugged. "Care to find out?"

Arthur nodded and beckoned the concerned guards to disband back to their posts, they had drawn close to the crowd, ready to step to their king's side in case it went violent. While the blond issued his orders, Merlin went to Aubrey and instructed him to clear any sorcerers from the merchants' way out of the city. It was best to prevent any possible fights from breaking out, especially over the controversial topic of sorcery.

When both gave their orders, Arthur gestured for Merlin to lead the way back to castle, where they found a rather unapologetic dragon stretched out on the flagstones, her tail twirled in the air with boredom. Around her, people milled about, not bothered by the winged beast's presence, not after many previous visits from her and her massive kin. Usually the two would avoid visiting in the daytime and fly from a different direction to avoid problems from other, more terrified people in the lower town. To Merlin's irritation, the dragon merely smiled, her array of dagger-like teeth glimmered in what remained of the sunlight.

"What, pray tell me Aithusa, made you deem scaring already nervous traders necessary?" Merlin grumbled, his arms folded as he glared up at the dragon.

The dragon snorted, "Humans are incredibly delightful to mess with and I simply couldn't resist."

"Your actions could have started a war," Arthur said. There was no need for rumors to spread that Camelot commanded dragons against fellow kingdoms, especially one of dragons that intentionally antagonized travelers and merchants.

"War would be the least of your concerns," she murmured as she swung her head towards the king, her blue eyes lost to amusement in an instant.

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means that you are at the threshold of destiny," the dragon answered, "the both of you. While I may not be as connected to tides of destiny as Kilgharrah, even I learned to recognize the signs. Even so, Kilgharrah can better identify the sensations so he sent me to deliver a message. I only decided to make it a bit worthwhile of a trip."

"Message, what message?" the king pressed.

"One not for you, Pendragon, but for Merlin."

"And that is?" Merlin asked this time, wondering what was important enough for Kilgharrah to inform him about. While Aithusa typically made people nervous, the Great Dragon frightened them. After so many years since, the golden dragon's attack was still fresh on everyone's minds; it would be too much to ask to tolerate his presence longer than necessary.

"That the choices of the past will return to haunt you; be prepared, Merlin, for you face difficult trials ahead. The consequence born from your actions will begin to unfold."

"What choices does he speak of?"

"You will know soon enough," Aithusa softly said.

"Even when he's not here, he manages to give me headache-inducing riddles," Merlin groaned as he planted his hand against his forehead and thought back to what the Great Dragon could be speaking about.

"It is not our place to tell you more, else we chance unbalancing destiny. To do such will throw your fate askew and plunge you into despair deeper than any you have suffered previously. I must go now, warlock, before the sun sets. It's been too long since my last hunt and I'll rather like to enjoy my meal while there is still light."

With that, Aithusa unfolded her wings, stretched them out a bit, before pushing herself off the ground and taking to the skies. Above, she circled once, twice, before she settled for the northern direction. Her appearance was as sudden as her disappearance, making Merlin suspect she didn't want to allow him time to question her words.

"What in the world does that mean?" Arthur grumbled as he watched the dragon disappear.

"I never have a clue."

"That's obvious," Arthur snorted as walked back to the castle. "Come on, _Mer_lin, you're not getting out of our earlier discussion that easily."

"Can you stop being a prat for one day?" Merlin moaned as he followed the King. He was tired of dodging questions, but at least he got ahold of the elixir before Arthur reached him. The warlock was confident he could avoid telling Arthur everything; he would have to be more careful when he drank the potion to avoid such conversation.

Arthur laughed, "Sure, when you stop being an idiot for a day."

_Arthur_.

The king stopped, confused as he looked back up at the skies for Aithusa. When he did not see her immediately, he was ready to shrug it off to his imagination and continue back to the castle when the dragon called to him again.

_Arthur, don't speak just listen and keep walking, Merlin can't know I'm talking to you._

His eyes furrowed as Arthur kept his mouth sealed. He looked more closely at the sky and for a moment he thought he could see a flicker of a shadow cross one of the clouds high above his head.

_On the night of Samhain, come outside alone, to the clearing where you once battled Kilgharrah. A friend has requested to speak to you, and I intend to make sure you are in time for that meeting. Until then, Pendragon._

"Arthur!"

The blond jumped at the shout and snapped his head at the warlock demanding, "What?"

Merlin nodded towards a small group of hooded men. There were four of them of various colors of greens and browns, clothes very much the style of druids. At the head of the group was the familiar brown-haired man wearing a simple tunic and trouser with a sword strapped to his belt. He carried a pack with him and his mudcaked boots and fatigued face showed he had gone on a long journey. The two sorcerers that walked beside him completed the group Merlin sent as ambassadors of sorts to the druids.

During the last months of the ban lifted, many whom Merlin had met over the years showed up, and this man, Gilli, was no exception. He was accepted well into the ranks of sorcerers under Merlin's command; however, unlike most, he stuck with sword fighting while using his father's ring as a conduit for his magic. It was not an uncommon sight to see him with the knights training and, recently, it was suggested by Leon that the man be accepted into knight training since his sword fighting improved tremendously over the weeks to match even the best of their fighters.

"Welcome back Gilli," Merlin greeted with a smile when his fellow sorcerer was close enough.

"Good to be back, I could use and mug of ale and few nights rest," he said companionably as he grabbed the warlock's proffered arm and shook it in greeting. Done, he turned to Arthur an addressed him with a nod, "Sire."

"It's good to see you again, Gilli. I assume all went well with the druids."

"Indeed, Sire, however I came back with a request," he said as he gestured towards the druids behind him. "These druids return with me to offer their assistance in serving under you, milord, if you would allow."

"It is a pleasure to welcome druids who trust enough that the lifting of the ban was not faux."

"People who believe that have trusted too many lies," one of the druids spoke up, a young boy just entering adulthood from the sounds of his voice. "Can you blame them for not trusting Camelot, a kingdom drowned in the blood of our kin, to be sincere?"

"I supposed not," Arthur murmured, his eyes searching the hooded man as if looking for his identity, "and who are you, if I may ask?"

"Someone you knew when I was but a child," he said as he drew back his hood, revealing dark curls, a pale face, and pale blue-grey eyes. They stood face to face, observing each other; one smiled as the other searched.

All the while, Merlin did not speak. Instead, he stood frozen, rooted in place, as he realized the full implications of the dragon's words. He made many mistakes in the past, and while he learned not to wallow in regret, he still remembered each one. There was one time he knew, a single event when he did not do as the Great Dragon advised; one singular moment in time that shed light on the familiarity both he and Arthur had of the druid boy before them. He was unsure how to process the boy, or rather young man's return, but he only had one name to say.

"Mordred?" Merlin asked, sure yet hoping he was wrong. He could still remember what Kilgharrah told him of the boy's fate.

"Emrys," he smiled as he extended his hand to him and shook.

"Mordred," Arthur whispered as slowly the memories of the druid boy Morgana had hid all those years ago. Then he smiled, "It's good to see you again alive and well."

"And it's good to see that you have accepted magic back into the kingdom," Mordred responded in kind. "I must thank you, Sire, for already your support has greatly improved druidic life."

"Why have you come to Camelot? Gilli did say you seek an audience with me."

"Yes," Mordred answered. "We came here to see if you'll allow us to serve under you. I myself want to prove to you, Sire, so that you may consider me to become one of the renowned Knights of Camelot."

* * *

**AN: So I spent the weekend with family while said family was busy with weddings. Why are so many people getting married here? Weird. Anyways, during the last couple of days bored and sitting on the floor of a small bathroom making sure my rabbit was okay after getting neutered, I actually managed to write out quite a bit. Not as ahead as I would like to be, but still progress! Also finally managed to settle down some details that have been a bit uncertain for later down the road in the story xD**

**So yeah, far more productive bored and worried for my pet (though he didn't help, he loved climbing over my keyboard and nearly deleted the chapter o,O) than I have been in a long time. **

**Next update will be July 6th. I want to do some early updates soon, but that'll wait once I'm happily ahead in my rough drafts than from whats posted.**

**And thank you all for reviewing/favoriting/alerting my story. Your reviews are always fun and definitely a much better kick start for my brain to write and get all those fine details figured out than when I just sit at the computer, hours on end, staring at the only sentenced I managed to write.**

**As always reviews and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated (I swear I'm going to fix that too/two mix up in the first chapter, what an embarrassing mistake -,-)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.****  
**

* * *

The clang of metal on metal permeated the air as Merlin stood aside; arms crossed, he watched the knights sweat under the noon sun. With the warning heavy on his mind, Merlin looked on with some apprehension as Arthur tested Mordred's skill. A couple of days after his arrival, the druid boy had been working hard in training, befriending the other knight's and impressing the king. Before, Merlin would have disregarded the dragon's words as nonsense, but after what happened to Morgana, the warlock was a bit wearier.

The more he watched, the more Merlin found it difficult not to trust the druid boy. He followed orders, joked with the knights, and never once did anything suspicious that would warrant him to step in. Granted the boy never sought out the warlock since his arrival to the city, but his own hectic life could account for that. If Mordred planned anything out of the ordinary with a knife pointed at the king's back, Merlin would have seen it already. It didn't take long for Morgana to sneak out to meet with Morgause after her disappearance and there was nothing stopping the boy from secret meetings in the woods.

Merlin winced along with the druid as Arthur delivered a particularly heavy blow that jarred Mordred's arm and yanked his blade from his grip. Off-balanced, the boy soon followed his blade as he tumbled into the dirt. With a yelp, he landed on the ground and immediately scrambled to recover his position. As he pulled his feet beneath him, crouched with hands on the ground to keep his balance, he looked up only to meet the point of the king's sword. They stared at each other for a few seconds before they both smiled and Arthur extended his hand to the fallen druid.

"Remember to watch your right and don't let your guard down," Arthur advised as he pulled him to his feet.

"Yes, Sire," Mordred said, breathless. Arthur patted him in the back as he passed, before he left and joined Merlin at the sidelines, leaving the rest of the knights to continue their drills under Leon's direction.

"He's been doing well," Merlin mentioned when Arthur reached him.

"Of the newest trainees, he is the most experienced along with Gilli," the king agreed then nodded further down field, "How about them."

The warlock turned to look at the small group of three sorcerers, one stood still, his eyes closed and his hands hovered an inch away from his body. He was rather young druid who had arrived with Mordred to Camelot, but chose a path focused on sorcery than swordplay. With years of experience under the tutelage of his chief, he was promising in his abilities. Lack of practice was all that stopped him from being a powerful sorcerer. Around him were a woman and man who had once been part of Morgana's army under threat of their loved ones but served Merlin loyally.

After a moment, the druid nodded to the others with eyes still closed as he waited. With his consent, the two simultaneously raised their hands and whispered incantations, their eyes glowing as bright as the fireballs that formed in their palms. They hesitated, unsure on attacking someone whose eyes were closed but unleashed their spells anyways, the fire aimed towards his torso.

Before the fireballs landed, the sorcerer opened his eyes, each orb flooded with molten gold, as he shouted, "**Scildan!**"

A translucent shield burst from his palm and solidified between him in the enchantments. It wavered for a second before stabilizing long enough to take the brunt of the attack. However, the time it took to cast the enchantment and the druid's strength wasn't enough to take the full onslaught. He hissed in pain as the sorcerer staggered back a few paces, shaking his hand. A few tongues of fire managed to break through and lick at his hand, leaving an angry red tint to his hand. The druid let out a few curses as the other sorcerers laughed at th boy's antics.

"He was taught well," Merlin responded, gesturing toward the druid, "but his arrogance could be his undoing."

Arthur chuckled at the way the warlock's brow furrowed as he watched the sorcerers tease the druid.

"I supposed I am already used to that," Merlin smiled at the way Arthur stopped laughing and glared at his friend.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"So easily offended, Sire? With that attitude, I assume you know whom I'm talking of. Teaching the prat out of someone isn't new, but it seems I've yet to be successful with you."

"Did anything new come up recently," Arthur asked, changing the subject with a roll of his eyes. His head turned to the warlock as he raised an eyebrow, daring him to lie.

"No," Merlin firmly said, "and tell Gwaine to back off, he gets in the way and I have too much to get done for next week." Not to mention a few extra vials of the elixir to last him the peace talks, Merlin thought as he mentally calculated how much of each herbs he would need to collect when he ventured into the forest.

"You tell him to stop," Arthur snorted.

"Fair point," Merlin laughed, "also going to speak to Kilgharrah tonight, is there anything I need to tell him about?"

"Nothing particularly, are you talking to him on his plans during the negotiations? I assume he would make an appearance. "

"Yes Sire," the warlock said, with the usual sarcastic ring to the title. "Anyways, I must get going, I promised Gwen I was going to stop by before I headed out."

"Nice knowing she has a fellow girl to talk to," Arthur teased.

"Very funny, Arthur," Merlin rolled his eyes as he walked away, "creative as usual."

Back turned to the fields and his king, Merlin wondered over the past days. His presence on the training fields was nothing but to ensure Mordred wasn't planning on taking advantage of the training to get an opening at Arthur. The king insisted that he got into a friendly duel with the boy to not only test his skills but also give the royal a break from the growing headache the peace talks became. The ever-vocal minority in the council weren't helping either when they convened over Arthur's goals. While in those meetings, Gwen was what kept Arthur grounded, keeping his frustration under control by standing to his defense. The warlock was sure the meeting he had to attend the next day was going to be just as fun for him.

Mordred gave him no reason to distrust the boy, his need to watch the fight was out of precaution rather than paranoia. Three days, while short, was enough to prove to Merlin that the Great Dragon's warning was not to be taken to heart, or at least not yet. He preferred not pursue Mordred with baseless accusations. One thing Merlin knew best was that knowledge of the future, whether through visions or spoken prophecies, should not be trifled with. He was wary, to say the least, of acting against the druid, afraid he would cause the boy to turn away from Camelot. He didn't want his attempts against Mordred to push him towards the destiny the dragon preached would happen.

Even with his hesitance, Merlin would have to talk to the dragon to uncover more information on the boy just in case. Already planning to talk to the winged lizard, he may as well inquire about his involvement with the negotiations. There was still a mental debate on whether he would ask for more information on the armlet, maybe increase the potency of the elixir if not a permanent solution; he wasn't sure if he was ready for another lecture from the reptile. Both dragons always took the opportunity to remind him how foolish he was for hiding the detriments of the armlet from his friends.

Inside the citadel, Merlin spent the time searching and asking around for the queen before he ended up finding Gwen pouring over scrolls in the council room. A few strands of hair escaped the braids that kept part of her hair up while a pinch of her brow showed the concentration she put forth in the scroll. Few of the council members, more specifically those with opinions in line with Uther's ideals who argued against the lifting the ban, looked down on the queen when Arthur wasn't around to see. Through all that arrogance, Gwen kept her chin high and pushed on, determined as her husband to do what was right for her people. Even after grueling meetings, she still worked hard.

"Milady," Merlin greeted as he stepped inside, the sound of his boots against the marbled floors allowed his presence to be known before he spoke.

"Milord," she responded with her own smile as she turned to him.

"That still sounds weird," the warlock grumbled as he reached the round table and looked over her shoulder.

"So does you calling me milady. I won't stop unless you stop that."

Merlin shook his head still smiling, "Okay, no more milady. What was it you needed, Sire?"

Gwen's eyes narrowed but she decided to let it go when she noted the warlock struggling to restrain his laughter at her irritation. Instead, she gestured to the table of scrolls and said, "Take a look at this."

Merlin stepped around the queen and leaned over the table; his eyes scanned the parchment. On the scroll, there was a large map that included Camelot and many of the neighboring kingdoms that composed Albion. There was three marks scattered around, one for each kingdom; a few circles and check marks, but mostly x's scattered through the land. Amongst the kingdoms with checks, Camelot, Nemeth, and Essetir were marked. It didn't take long for Merlin to realize what it meant.

"We were able to mark who accepts magic, who doesn't, and who we don't know," Gwen said then pointed to a variety of areas, "These are the kingdom's participating in the talks."

"Really puts thing in perspective, doesn't it?" Merlin mumbled as he traced each indented mark.

Gwen nodded, "And most of these kingdoms Morgana has been targeting, am I correct?"

Merlin nodded again he spotted the smaller marks sprinkled about in several kingdoms including Camelot indicating Morgana's scattered movements. There was no real pattern, no obvious intentions outside of recruiting disgruntled sorcerers tired of hiding, of allowing those above them to crush them into the dirt.

"Have you heard of the recent looting and attacks led by bandits?"

"No, I've been too busy trying to keep track of Morgana…. Why?"

The queen shook her head, uncertainty clear on her face, "It's too similar."

"Too similar?"

"Look," Gwen said. She pulled out a stack of scrolls, each filled with the neat writings of different knights; Merlin could make out a few of Leon's report mixed with the bunch, however, what caught his eyes were what the writings contained, the names listed on each report.

"These reports," Merlin said as he pulled a few of the reports, set them aside, and spread the rest out on the table. "The attacks are on the same villages, and by when these reports were sent, after Morgana has made her move. No attacks on druid camps, only villages."

"Under the guise of looting as well. Aside from a few isolated incidents, the villages Morgana attacked told the patrols that these bandits were recruiting. Whoever they could take, young men and even boys, they took with them."

"You think this could be related with Morgana's plans? Another army?"

"An army of inexperience boys," the queen shook her head. "We don't know what her relations are to this bandit group, but it's too coincidental to pass it off as unimportant."

"I'll have Aubrey and the others look into it, maybe we can stop the next bandit attacks if the pattern continues and question them on their connection with her. In the meantime, I'm sure you didn't call on me just to discuss this."

"No, not at all," Gwen sighed with a smile as she reorganized the table then put her hand on the warlock's arm, pulling him out of the room. "I need a breather from all these council meetings as much as Arthur. While he can enjoy throwing his sword around, I'll rather a more peaceful ride out in the woods. Care to join?"

"As you wish, Sire," Merlin smiled. Gently, he removed her hand from her arm and gave a small bow to her annoyed yet amused eyes. "Let me go check up on a few things, I'll meet you at the courtyard."

"Okay, _Lord Emrys_," she said only to hear the laughter that echoed back to her as Merlin left her behind.

The Court Sorcerer made his way back to his room, too good humored to be bothered by the slight shivers he spotted pulsating in his peripherals. The past days, along with watching the druid boy, he busied himself training, studying, and researching than going on patrols, a rather necessary break away from the stress going on those trips often gave him. None saw even a glance of the flask; he kept a constant eye whenever he was away from his room and the hallucinations were returning, ensuring he was not in view of prying eyes as he gulped the needed elixir. Otherwise, he preferably stuck to his room to drink the concoction.

He looked forward to this ride with the queen for it had been too long since he last spent time with her outside the roles they led in Camelot. He missed their quiet conversation as they scrubbed the stains from the day's laundry or the amused glances they shot at one another as the catered to the nobles at a feast or the royal family during supper. It was nice that the old Gwen was still there under the proud queen she became. While it did not take much, it felt too long for Merlin to get to his room, take a dose of elixir, before grabbing his bag and heading out to meet with the queen.

* * *

Night descended heavily around him as Merlin nudged his horse further into the woods. His ride with Gwen was as relaxing as he expected with both needing time away from Camelot and the responsibility that weighed heavily on both their minds. But the time for peaceful chats in the woods was over and, after escorting his friend back to the city, he returned to the trees to meet with Kilgharrah. There was much he wanted to talk about with the old dragon.

With a tug of the reins and verbal command, Merlin stopped the mare when she entered the clearing. He swung his leg around and hopped off the horse's back, taking the reins and tying her to a tree in the forest. He vaguely wondered if there was enough space between the horse and where the dragon would land so that the mare didn't scare. Even though he no longer needed to sneak about for these meetings with Kilgharrah, Merlin found it better to return to the familiar area. No need to frighten people.

With the horse situated, Merlin walked to the center and threw back his head in a roar, "**O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!**"

He searched the skies, not surprised by the immediate appearance of the dragon, a speck in the sky that grew bigger as the best drew closer. After the message he had Aithusa delivered, the warlock wouldn't be surprised if the Great Dragon had been waiting nearby for him to call.

With a heavy thump, Kilgharrah landed in front of him minutes after the warlock's cal, his old bones creaking as he settled into a more comfortable position, pulled his wings in place, and gave the warlock his full attention.

"Good evening young warlock," he rumbled.

"Hello Kilgharrah," Merlin nodded his greeting. "Do you know why I called you here?"

"You wish to know more on the druid boy, do you not?"

"Yes, why is it you must warn me of him?"

"You know why, young warlock, what point is it in asking me again."

"Because I don't see him ever killing Arthur," Merlin replied, frustration coloring his voice.

"Did you not learn your lesson with the witch? You are no longer the boy who stumbled into Camelot and it's time you let go of that naivety before everything collapses around you."

"Call it naivety, but I will not pursue a boy on nothing but the allegations of an aging lizard without any evidence to support it. My experience with Morgana taught me very much the dangers of not only standing aside, doing nothing out of fear, but also that fighting what has yet to come never turns out for the better."

"The Once and Future King will meet his end at the druid boy's hand if you do nothing to stop him," the dragon growled, smoke billowing out of his nostrils in anger.

"The moment he threatens Arthur, I'll be the first to strike him down. I will not kill without reason."

"Then you condemn the young Pendragon to his death with your naïve mercy."

"It was because of my _mercy_ that you are here alive to argue with me!" The warlock shouted. He shook his head, in disbelief over the effects the dragon's words had on him, before he forced himself to stop, take a deep breath, and compose himself before continuing, "I cannot act against him."

"Then do not expect more from me when all is lost."

The raven-haired man began to pace, shaking his head even more, annoyed. As much as he wanted to listen to the dragon, there was no way he could or would condemn the boy on a crime he hadn't committed. All he could do was keep an eye on him, nothing else. He didn't know what frustrated him more: that the Great Dragon was warning him or that Mordred was genuine in his loyalty. There was no winning this battle.

Kilgharrah huffed, "Young warlock, I apologize. What I speak is the truth but I cannot force you to change your nature. I will help to the best of my abilities."

"Thank you," the warlock smiled as he turned back to the dragon, mentally preparing for his next request. "Then you can help me by telling me more on mandrakes."

"I will tell you again as I told you before, the shadows are not suited for you, not anymore. You will have to command me, as you did to keep my silence, if you want to get information from me."

"I can't afford to distract everyone with my problems."

"They can't afford you to be distracted as well," Kilgharrah shot back, "you are taking the title of Emrys, and your importance is far grander than to be reduced to secrets. Do not force my claw, young warlock, else, I will ensure that the Pendragon hears the truth. Would you rather the truth comes from you than another?"

"As you said, neither you nor Aithusa can tell Arthur the truth. There are no others but you two who can."

"I do not need tell it myself without finding a way for the Camelotian king to discover it; the truth is not as hidden as you believe. Now enough of this conversation, any more demands you have for me before I make my leave?"

Merlin's eyes narrowed but he decided not to pursue what Kilgharrah meant; he felt that riddles was the only way the dragon could communicate, and the Dragonlord didn't want to use his abilities to find the meanings of those twisted words. Instead, he did as asked and said, "Samhain is next week and the negotiations will start the next day when the festivities are over. Will you make an appearance before then?"

"These king may not be too keen on our presence, are you certain this is the course of action you wish to take?"

"Yes, it is best for them to acknowledge your allegiance to Camelot and recognize that you are no threat to them before they believe some rumor a frighten traveler brings to their court. Aithusa wasn't making it any easier when she made it a game to disrupt what fragile peace we had with those merchants."

"I am not responsible for her actions," the dragon sniffed.

"No you are not," Merlin smirked.

Kilgharrah sighed and brought his body to its full height, lifting off the ground as he shook out his wings. He glanced to the sky before he looked down on the warlock and said, "We will be at Camelot during Samhain, but I will not stay for long. Humans have a nasty habit of seeing entertainment in a creature that's not one of their own."

Merlin stepped back and watched as Kilgharrah took his leave, unmoving until the speck disappeared into the night sky before returning to his mare at the edge of the clearing. He found the horse, irritated, with ears flat against her head and hoof stomping on the ground. With some cooing, Merlin calmed the mare before he lifted himself into the saddle. With a kick, the horse began to make her way back to the castle as Merlin thought over the dragon's words.

If Mordred was to be a threat, the warlock wondered if he should prepare for the inevitable. Should he allow himself to pursue a future enemy? It wasn't right but it was tempting. Kilgharrah had warned him of Morgana when he would not listen, now she was the greatest threat to the kingdom. Logic deemed that he should step in and remove the newest danger.

He had never been one to listen to logic, it appears; maybe that was why Arthur constantly reminded him of his idiocy. It was a gamble, a dangerous one at that. His choice could bring about the fall of Camelot if he was not careful. He won't remain passive, but there wasn't much he could do beyond watching the druid boy.

* * *

Murky liquid bubbled away in the cauldron before him. The next batch of the elixir was nearly completed; much needed in the upcoming days when he needed his full time dedicated the nonstop meetings he would find himself in. Merlin crumbled more herbs into the mix, the second to last ingredient before he took the final steps to completion.

The stench was unbearable, but the warlock knew it could only get worse as he set to prepare the final ingredient. He stretched out his hand and summoned a small silver dagger, which he placed upon the table, before using his magic again to drag the chest closer to him. Though he was cautious of leaving the chest out of hiding, it was too late for any visitation and easier access when it wasn't on the floor above him behind a magically created niche. If there was an urgency to reach him during the late hour, the warlock was confident that there would be more things to worry about for his future visitor than a suspicious chest in his chambers.

He lifted the latch and skimmed his fingers against the inside walls, careful not to knock down any of the vials. When he found it, Merlin curled his fingers into the niche on either side of the chest and lifted the wooden board out, using magic to keep contents balanced on the false bottom. In the small space at the between the board and the bottom of the chest laid a mandrake root.

Unlike other mandrakes, this one was mutilated beyond recognition. While they normally had long, gnarled limbs that vaguely resembled a humanoid form, the root had been sliced until nothing remained but the torso and stumps were there were once limbs. Dark red and brown stains lined the entire root that contrasted against the usual pale brown coloring. Muck that resembled the contents in the vials seemed to have oozed from one of the stumps and puddled beneath it.

The smell slammed against him, suffocating him as it filled his lungs to the brim with its presence. The all too familiar effects of the root rode the stench and tried to claim his mind, eager to destroy the one who dared inflict pain on the root. However, the enchantment used prior to cutting the mandrake kept its full effects at bay, putting the root into a trance-like sleep if such a description could fit the plant. Without the spell, the mandrake's cries when making the potion would likely kill him.

Merlin grasped the root around its middle and lifted it out until he held it hovering above the pot. With his other hand, he snatched the dagger and poised it at ready against the bottom half of the root. Before he allowed the blade to bite into the plant, he enveloped it with his magic; a golden sheen sparkled off its surface. His enchantment, while enough to remove the fatal qualities of its cries, did nothing to stop the painful screeches that pierced his hearing. The first time he had created the elixir, he nearly ruined it with his instincts to cover and protect his ears from those cries.

He took a deep breath and incanted, "**Cíes ****þás ****blódsihtan ælwihtes.**"

The dagger pierced the root, plunging through and out the back. Thick muck bubbled around the puncture, and slid down the root. Sluggish brown with a tint of red, the mandrake's blood dripped into the unfinished elixir, congealing the contents inside while the strange creature screeched in pain. Even muffled, it still made Merlin wince.

"**Ásæle ond ámundae ****mec fram ****þære grimnesse atoles,**" he finished the enchantment, watching as the blood swirled in vial and bonded fully with the contents. The stench only increased as the mixture became uniform throughout, though the black tar sludge tasted for worse than the smell.

He gazed into the abyss, almost mesmerize by the disgusting affair as he once again completed another batch of Mandragorae Elixir. He had finally perfected the routine, making a potion far more effective than his initial attempts. He lifted a spoon, mixed it, then allowed it to cook as he cleaned and put away his equipment.

On the table the mandrake laid, blood oozing out of the fresh wound. The shriek became broken, struggling to try to kill the one who harmed it, but the constant abuse left it too weak, and Merlin felt more than saw as the creature finally died, like slime against his core slip out of existence. Merlin shivered when the thing passed away. He would have to get another, though he hated dealing with the sorcerer who provided them.

The warlock returned it to the chest; he would find time later to dispose of the thing. He replaced the false bottom, vials and armlet still atop, back over the mandrake and re-casted the enchantment used to cloak the stench and its presence, though it never full worked for him; he often found the hallucinations were stronger when around the chest. Merlin checked the elixir, noting its completion, before he grabbed ahold of an empty vial and began to syphon the contents inside.

"That not a very pleasant looking potion," a voice spoke from behind him causing the warlock to jump, nearly spilling the mixture.

Nervousness flooded him while he felt exposed to his visitor, never before had someone watched him make the potion. Already his heart raced in his chest when he recognized the voice. Of all people to catch him, this was the one he least suspected and the last he wanted to find out.

"Good evening, Emrys," Mordred continued as he walked around Merlin to the chest.

Without permission, the druid boy grabbed the neck of one of the vials in the chest and tilted it to look at the contents. His face showed no emotions as he looked into the vial before setting it down in favor of the box at the center of the chest. He lifted and opened it before Merlin could say anything, and with the elixir still in his hands, the warlock could do nothing but watch, wary, as Mordred discovered the armlet hidden within.

Mordred looked mesmerized by the dark bracelet, his head cocked and eyes searching for an answer to its function. He lifted a hand as if to touch the artifact, causing Merlin to open his mouth in warning. Before the warlock could speak, however, Mordred changed his mind and closed the case, putting it down in the chest.

"Why does the great Emrys own an artifact concentrated in dark magic, I wonder?" Mordred murmured as his piercing gaze shifted to Merlin.

"I'm researching it," Merlin lied, his mind working fast to come up with a plausible excuse. "Found the whole chest in the vaults."

The druid's eyes narrowed, "Doubtful when you're adding more to whatever is in those vials."

Merlin resisted the urge to fidget as he responded, "As you said, the object is enchanted with dark magic. These vials are a means to nullify its effects and dispose of it."

Not a lie, per say. It was exactly what he intended, only to nullify the effects the armlet placed on him before he thought of disposing it.

"Your actions in the dead of night are not my business," Mordred shrugged as he glanced again at the chest.

"And what business do you have with me in the dead of night?"

"I come to understand," Mordred said as he circled around the warlock, away from the chest but still alongside Merlin.

"Understand? Understand what?"

"You," he said simply with raised eyebrows. "Ever since I've arrived here, you have been watching me. Tell me, what purposes have you to following me; I would assume that Emrys would have better use of his time than following the likes of me."

Merlin shook his head, "I don't know what you're on about."

"You're lying, much the same way you lied about that," the druid deadpanned with a nod to the chest. "I want to know what I have done to offend you or cause you to view me as a threat. I am _not_ your enemy."

"Nor do I view you as such," the warlock denied, trying to sway the druid away from his suspicions.

He laughed, cold and irritated. The Court Sorcerer was dodging around it, his speech filled with nonsense, lies after lies to cover the truth. "I'm not easily lied to, Emrys. I spent my entire life playing the same game, just like any other sorcerer out there before the ban was lifted."

Mordred turned from him, and threaded to the stairs, "I'm not only speaking of these past couple of days either. I owe Arthur my life, I will not betray him, but you, I owe nothing to you. Nothing since you tried to kill me when I was only a child. "

His eyes widened as Merlin thought to the time Alvarr convinced Morgana to steal the Crystal of Neahtid. It was the closest he had gone to stopping Mordred, to having him killed. That time the boy became a threat and the pressures of the dragon's words of his and Morgana's future left him all too eager to stop the duo.

How could he forget the angered words the boy shot at him?

"Maybe what I did was wrong, but I was only a _child_. Was death the only thing left for me? I may have owed a debt to you for my life, but you more than made up for it when you nearly let those guards kill me all those years ago. I never forgot it, Emrys, and I'm not sure if I ever want to forgive."

"I'm sorry, Mordred," Merlin whispered at his back before he stepped down the steps.

"Me too, Emrys," the druid said as he turned back to Merlin. "The teachings of my people tell me that Emrys is our savior, but my own experience told me otherwise. I serve King Arthur now; I hold no loyalty to you, not anymore."

* * *

**AN: Isn't interesting that Mordred makes that dramatic line in S2 and it's never brought up again in S5? Oh well, I guess I can expand on it myself xD Let me know what you think about this so far since it is my first real step away from the Mordred of S5.**

**Now I have some bad news, next update won't be fast. I've been preparing to move to a new place for awhile but the move day changed suddenly at a much closer day than expected so I'm going to be too busy all week for that than to concentrate on anything else. Plus, I may not have internet for awhile in the new place so I'm not sure if I can even post. So expect the update to be by August 20th, though if I need to extend the day I'll try to say it on my profile.**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorite/alerted. I tried to response to reviews as best I can but I'm incredibly sleepy -,- but your input is always appreciated ^^**

**Of course more reviews and some added constructive criticism is greatly appreciated ^^**

**Update: _Working on it. Sorry for all the wait, unfortunately this dropped really fast on my priority list due to some stuff that happened in my personal life. I'll give a little more details to those who want to know why the sudden no updates once I do finally manage to get chapter 4 ready to post. At the moment, however, I want to take this rather lengthy time to actually write a bit ahead in the rough drafts so that I can give more consistent updates when I start posting again. I want to be closer to around chapter 10 in rough drafts before I post again but seeing as that is unreasonable and would take more time than I want to make you wait, I'll probably post once I have chapter 7 partly written._**

**_Update 2: Just a bit longer, I'm about a fourth of the way into writing chapter 7. Expect an update at earliest Monday, October 21st and latest Monday, October 28th. Again, sorry for the wait._**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.****  
**

* * *

Different hues of oranges and yellows flickered from the palm of the witch's hand as she stood, silent, awaiting for an unknown arrival in the middle of the forest. Dressed in her favorite black lace, Morgana's pale face looked up to the sky, hand still full of fire as she continued to eye the sky. From a distance stood a girl, her face casted in the shadows by a hood drawn over her head. Soft brown curls peaked out from beneath the garment, resting against her collarbone. She wore a simple tunic and leggings with a leather vest. On her hips swung a small sword. Unlike the witch, the girl fidgeted in place, nervousness kept at bay to not interrupt Morgana or her business. Far from the Isle, their position left them exposed to patrol who scoured the lands to find Morgana. She was ill prepared for a fight, though Morgana was likely to survive in a brawl.

With no signal or indication of change, Morgana lifted her arm to the sky, her forearm crossed in front of her and kept parallel to the ground with palms turned downwards. The fire continued to burn from her other hand under her steady golden gaze. She stilled into a statue once more, leaving the girl confused as she searched the trees for the cause of the witch's actions. What had prompted such movements from an otherwise frozen figure? It wasn't until she scanned her surroundings in three quick successions that she spotted the dark blur that flitted through the trees.

With its dark feathers, the small creature melded with its surroundings, hidden in the shadows the witch's light created against the trees. It squawked at the two women, pecking at the branch beneath its feet before gliding down to them. The cawing sounded like thunder in the absence of sound, bringing a shiver down the girl's spine. Was this what they were waiting for, a bird? When the raven landed on Morgana's arm, it confirmed the girl's suspicions that they were risking their lives for this lone animal. She watched as the bird curled its claws around Morgana's forearm, clenching tight into the fabric that protected her skin from puncture.

On one of the scrawny legs of the bird was a bit of parchment attached by a coarse string. The sight of it brought a small smile across Morgana's face, eyes sparkling with hope of good news. She shook the flames from off her palm, letting it float next to her to further provide light when she lifted two fingers to rub against the bird's head, eliciting a happy coo. The witch then allowed her fingers to descend from the bird s head, down its back, then to the note attached to his feet. With a tug, she removed the scrap and unfurled it with deft fingers. Her eyes flickered from bird to note, darting across the parchment with a broadening smile.

From within the folds of her dress she withdrew another parchment, a message of her own, which she attached to the bird with the same string. Giving it one last stroke, she threw out her arm, startling the bird enough to force it into flight with an annoyed squawk. Prompting it with magic, she sent the bird on the correct course. When she was sure the bird was on its way, Morgana turned away and returned to the girl, nodding that she finished her business.

Together the two walked through the forest when he girl spoke up, "What was that all about?"

"Finalizing a few matters with our friends in the east," Morgana dismissed

"Can we trust them?"

"I trust no one," Morgana deadpanned, her eyes narrowed, "but we share the same cause. We can rely on them until I watch Camelot fall and Arthur's head on a stake."

"And after?"

Morgana smirked, "They do not understand the forces they dabble in; instilling my rule will not be too difficult."

"Good, we don't need another like the spawn of Uther on the throne," the girl grumbled.

The witch nodded, "Arthur is a poor excuse for a king, usurping him is the best chance we have in finally obtaining freedom. We have a few pieces left to set before everything is ready."

"The main issue appears to be Pendragon's inner circle. It is practically impenetrable," the girl shook her head. "There is little influence we can have on them unless the unlikely event that one of them would turn against their king. Anyone we send instead would be viewed as suspicious. It'll put too much attention on the person to avoid Emrys' involvement."

"Then we need to find a solution, else we lose our opportunity when those negotiations conclude."

"What do you suggest we do," she growled, frustrated.

Morgana smile and stopped, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder in comfort, "There is still someone who can help us; a new recruit of Arthur's capable of joining that circle."

The girl stilled next to her, her stubborn eyes softened as she looked down and whispered, "Mordred…"

The witch nodded confirmation, "He may not be inclined to help now but I'm positive it wouldn't be too difficult for _you_ to change his mind."

She inhaled then slowly exhaled, "I am not sure if he would listen to me."

"Don't deny it, you are the only one he would listen to," Morgana waved her hand at the girl and continued walking.

"And if he still doesn't agree?"

"Then more drastic measures will be taken," Morgana said, allowing no room to argue. "We need his support, else we risk allowing Emrys to get the better of us and I am _not_ going to allow that to happen. Not again."

"I will do as you ask, it was about time Mordred stopped fooling himself," agreed the hooded figure.

"Good," Morgana smirked. "I will expect a report on whether or not you succeed."

* * *

"We need more regulation! If the sorcerers continue as they wish, the kingdom will devolve into chaos!"

"Each sorcerer is judged as any of citizen of the kingdom, what need is there for anything more than punishment for crimes committed?" Merlin retorted against the noble, Heilbert, whose face reached an interesting shade of red during the course of the council meeting.

"Limiting their sorcery within the city can not only prevent any unnecessary harm their magic can cause but also keep the people at ease. Many are nervous when magic is used so freely."

"Restricting sorcery will only extend the time for people to accept it."

"Why accept a cursed ability," the noble snorted then sneered at the Court Sorcerer, "it's hard to view such a thing as anything less than evil."

"Enough Heilbert, we are not here to discuss more laws pertaining sorcerers. Our stance towards sorcery will remain acceptance as well, to ensure in the minds of our guests that we are serious on establishing peace with the magical community,"" Arthur admonished, tired of the constant prejudice the noble preached. "Samhain is in two days and preparation must be complete. We are hosting royals from seven different kingdoms; I'll rather not give them the opportunity to make the proceedings more difficult than it already will be."

"The servants have been working hard for the last week getting the guest rooms prepared and the kitchen even more so for the feast," Gwen said with a small smile as she noticed from the corner of her eye Merlin relax back into his seat, sighing at the way Heilbert grumbled to his neighbor. With two of them working together, she knew they could keep the heat from the ex-servant, especially when the stressed warlock still had dark circles beneath those blue orbs.

"There should be a hunt the day prior to provide for the feast," Arthur grinned at Merlin. In response, the man rolled his eyes, already wondering if the king planned to make him carry his hunting equipment as he had in the old days. Even with his new status, the warlock was confident his friend would find an excuse to make him go trudging in the forest weighed down by weapons and downed game.

"There's also the matter of the dragons, Sire," spoke up another noble from across the table, Baldrick. "Sorcery would be difficult enough to convince half of them to accept, the dragon would make them wary of an ulterior motive if we were to reveal those rumors as fact. If we were to keep our alliance in secrecy, I fear that could only result in a sizable problem in the future."

"Of course we are not going to keep our connections to Kilgharrah and Aithusa hidden," Merlin answered. "We will bring that information to the forefront of our talks and provide them an opportunity to speak to them if they so choose. As you pointed out, it will likely cause them to be uneasy but we cannot risk future peace."

"Are they willing to do so? Meet and make peace with other kingdoms or will you command them to do so?"

"I asked the Great Dragon if he was willing to be here the day they arrive should we want him to, and he agreed. I believe this plan to speak before they are seen is a better choice, and his acceptance to my request tells me he is fine to do what we decide in the end."

Baldrick nodded, "I suppose this is the best chance we have."

"Why not cut our ties with the beasts?" The noble next to Heilbert narrowed his eyes at Merlin. "If they cause so many problems, surely it'll be easy for a Dragonlord such as you to command them away from our lands."

"They are valued friends to Camelot. If not for them, you would still be living under Morgana's rule," the king pointed out. "What would it tell others about Camelot and her people when we treat their kindness with disdain? Banishing them is not an option, Garret."

"We place too much care on beasts who had threatened our lives before and now our current trade business," Garret pointed out.

"That white dragon causes too much strain on our relations with neighboring kingdoms," Heilbert supported. "And need I remind everyone the blood the Great Dragon spilt during his rampage?"

Merlin leaned forward in his chair, meeting each of the nobles' eyes, "Kilgharrah regrets his actions and works loyally under my command to redeem himself from his past and Aithusa is still young. Besides I've spoken to Aithusa, that incident won't be repeated, _neither_ incident, I assure you." He held their gazes for a moment before both turned away.

"I already settled for Merlin's plan as the best course of action when dealing with the dragons," Arthur continued the meeting along, tiring over the time already spent in the throne room arguing the same points. "Reports come in that Morgana's movements have slowed; she only made one other appearance according to patrols."

"It is a relief to hear her attacks are becoming less frequent but we still do not know her plans. This also leaves us less chances to discover for certain if the bandit attacks are connected her," the queen said.

"According to the last report, there are no words of bandit activities," supplied one of the councilmen, "however it is too soon and as her Highness said, just one observed occurrence is not enough proof of there being a connection."

"Then small patrols will continue and one will remain stationed at the last village attacked, the rest of the knights remain here for the feast and talks. What is the current status in Luton?"

"Gaius reported he must stay for an indeterminate amount of time. He has yet to identify the illness that befell the village," Merlin answered.

"I assume he'll stay there until they are no need of his services. For now we shall finish the final preparations for the coming days, council dismissed," Arthur closed the meeting, pushing off from the table and rising to his feet before proffering his hand to the queen and gently helped her to her feet.

Gwen then slipped her arm around her husbands and settled her hand at the crook of his elbow. Together, the two left the room while Merlin trailed uncharacteristically silent behind them with councilmen shuffling around them. The trio made their way through the halls until Gwen murmured about checking the servants' progress, kissed Arthur on the cheek, and hugged Merlin with a bye, leaving the two men alone. Without as much as a word, they continued their trek, Merlin speeding up to stay in step alongside his king.

"So how about that hunt?" Arthur lips quirked into a smile and amusement danced in his eyes.

"What about it. I suppose it is necessary but you don't need my expertise over something as simple to you as a hunt," the warlock answered, trying and failing to ignore his friend's smugness. "In fact, I'll only spoil your fun with my loud stomping scaring all the animals away."

"Just like the old days then," exclaimed the king, "And you can even carry all the equipment!"

"Not going to carry all your heavy equipment."

"You won't have a choice."

"I always do"

Arthur smirked, "Not if I order you."

"I still have a choice," Merlin pointed out.

"How on earth would you have a choice when your king orders you?"

"I can still choose to ignore your orders as I've always done, just like the old days," the warlock teased,

"No, I like the idea of having a hunt as we used to, you're not going to get out of this"

"So you say," Merlin snorted.

* * *

"_Mer_lin, you can't carry the equipment like that. It's supposed to be like our old hunting trips."

"Just because you forced me into one of your awful blood sports, doesn't mean you can get me to make it difficult. At least this way it's bearable."

The two friends have been arguing throughout the morning, to their fellow knights' amusement. As usual, the warlock managed to turn the tables on the king when it came to his attempts to irritate the warlock. He didn't even have the pleasure of throwing the ex-servant into the stocks when he could use magic to block the rotten vegetables or toss it back. Arthur glared at the most recent cause of ire, at the way his hunting equipment floated carelessly behind a gleeful Merlin.

"I'm surprised you're even out here, mate," Gwaine pointed out.

The knights burst out laughing with Leon saying, "I wonder what he threatened you with."

"Perhaps that fabled hat I heard so much about," supplied Percival.

"Now that I would like to see," spoke an amused but calm voice.

Merlin's mood dampened slightly when he turned to acknowledge the cool gaze of the druid boy. A week, in retrospect, was not a long time but when dealing with Mordred, it felt like a lifetime. The added stress induced was not because the boy was proactive in trying to make Merlin miserable. What caused his wariness was the cold way Mordred acted around the warlock and the distance he placed between them during every interaction, especially when the warlock still felt uneasy over the warnings the dragon gave. Unless given a reason, he couldn't force himself to go against the boy, preferring to keep vigilance rather than action. The fact that Mordred had done nothing to prove to him he was untrustworthy made Merlin feel ever more ashamed with the initial treatment he gave the boy.

Thus, their relation continued as cold and distant as Mordred could allow without inciting suspicions from his fellow knights and king. Merlin too kept on as though nothing happened; treating him as any other though. His observations hadn't completely stopped but his eyes weren't as constantly on the boy as the first few days of his stay. In contrast to his interactions, all of Camelot seemed to receive the boy with open arms with even Arthur developing a certain fondness for the boy that could rival all of Arthur's relations but with Merlin and Gwen. The druid boy managed grow so close to the warlock's friends in so short of time that the king showed no hesitance to invite him on the hunting trip just to develop an even closer bond. A part of Merlin mind also suspected that they could sense a sliver of the ire between the two hence the trip was a means of helping form a stronger friendship.

If that was the case, Merlin could at least applaud the effort. All he knew was that it would take more than a day trudging through the woods looking for prey to get Mordred to trust him again.

"I'm sure Arthur could arrange a way to get that hat back where it belongs," chuckled Gwaine as he ruffled the top of the warlock's head, "Too many of us hadn't even seen it!"

Swatting his hand away, Merlin glared," I am not wearing that hat, it's degrading."

"But you can't say it was the worst thing you ever had to do."

"No, but it's close to it."

"Stop being so dramatic, _Mer_lin," Arthur stopped the argument with a roll of his eyes. "A hunt has no room for girls."

"Seeing as you call me a girl all the time, I can take my leave and you can carry your own equipment," snorted Merlin. As usual, he gave no other indication of a spell except for the flare of gold in his eyes. All the crossbows, bolts, and other such hunting paraphernalia that trailed behind him like one of the royal hounds shuddered once before crashing to the ground. All but Arthur and Mordred burst out of laughter when they heard the muffled sound of the equipment against the forest floor.

"Oh come on Merlin! It's just a load of good fun, don't get your skirts in a twist," Gwaine exclaimed, wiping the tears from his eyes as he slung his arm across the warlock's shoulders. Around them, the others continued to snicker, this time with Arthur joining in and Mordred with a slight smile. Ignoring the teasing of his friends and the suspicion that the druid's smile was forced, Merlin waved his hand and lifted the equipment from the ground, allowing his magic's free form to encase the various weapons and packs.

"Fine, but only because I doubt you can have a successful trip without t me."

"And why is that, because I'm certain it is not for your famous stealth," teased the king.

"Don't you mean infamous?" Percival said.

Gwaine chuckled, "Years of hunting trips are really going against you, mate."

"I meant that you need me for all the trouble that targets us. Besides, you lot are incredibly thick to not catch on to most of my movements," Merlin shot back. "All this time you hadn't noticed before you discovered my magic and even discovery it was solely because I had to reveal myself."

"Fair point, friend, fair point," the alcoholic said, his face sober until he could hold a straight face no longer and cracked a smile. "Still one of the clumsiest person I know."

"Anyways, save the bickering for later," Arthur interceded when Merlin began to open his mouth.

"Says you, Princess, you are as bad as Merlin!"

"But I am the king, I can order you to shut it, besides we are _hunting_, all this bickering is going to scare the game away."

"Okay Princess, then let's make this a little competition, hmmm?" Gwaine crossed his arms and halted in place.

Arthur looked back to the knight while everyone stopped as well, waiting for the conversation to pan out. In the lazy noon sun, most of them were relaxed, enjoying the clear day and camaraderie amongst the group. Even Merlin found the tension and stress he carried as a constant companion ease away; he would enjoy the moment of peace as long as he could, practically ensuring it when he tripled the dosage of elixir prior to leaving the city walls; not a wisp of the armlet's effect in sight.

"Competition, Sir Gwaine? You sure you are ready to take me on," the king drawled, causing another snort from Merlin who kept his mouth sealed. Much as he wanted to spew over the prattish way Arthur held himself, he was curious as to what Gwaine planned.

Gwaine smirked in equal arrogance, "Wouldn't be the first time I stood against a royal. How about we split up into pairs? First to down a stag wins."

"Fine the-"

"And since Merlin so confident for his stealth, he can team up with you," the knight smiled as he patted Arthur in the back then gestured to Percival, grabbed one of the floating crossbows with a nod to the warlock, then pushed his way through the underbrush with a wave. "Oh and losers _have_ to wear ridiculous hats during the feast."

Percival shrugged and followed Gwaine while Leon patted Mordred on the shoulders and indicated with a nod of his head to get started. From the look on their faces as they too grabbed some equipment, all the knights were determined not to be the ones to suffer that hat. Arthur met the warlock's eyes then shook his head.

"If you scare away the prey today, I swear Merlin, that hat wouldn't be the worst thing you are forced to do recently."

"I don't know, Sire, it may be worth the pain to see you wear it."

"Come on, idiot," the king said fondly as he smacked his friend across the back of his head, to the warlock's displeasure, "you do not want to act on that thought. I guarantee you will regret it."

Merlin allowed the crossbow and bolts to float to Arthur, allowing the king to grab ahold of them as they continued deeper into the forest. They constantly bickered in hushed tones as they worked their way deeper, with Merlin occasionally casting his mind out for the others, keeping an eye on the group altogether while trailing behind the king.

After a few false trails, some startled birds, and another smack against the warlock's head for tripping over his feet and crashing to the forest floor, the duo finally found a promising set of tracks. They followed the prints in nervous anticipation; even the ex-servant was being unusually quiet. The temptation to see Arthur in his own concoction of a hat was not greater than the negative consequences that it would result in should he try to sabotage the hunt as he usually did. Either way, the teasing stopped and quiet excitement took over the longer they followed the trail of prints and broken twigs, fresh tracks from a small herd of deer.

Before long, the two found a small opened space next to a rather large tree. Beneath the branches stood four hoofed creatures, two does and two stags, though one of the bucks was clearly much younger. One of the does laid calmly by the tree, ears flickering at any little sound echoing from the trees while the others grazed on the grass, oblivious to the humans eyeing them from the shadows.

Motioning to stay silent, Arthur drew up his crossbow and loaded a bolt in. Careful as to not make any unnecessary noises, he navigated around the group, staying hidden in the trees, while again signaling the warlock to stay put when he appeared to be trying to follow. With focused eyes, Merlin watched as his king brought the crossbow up, fingers resting against the trigger as he lined up his shot. There was no worries, no hesitance, just the confidence of a hunter cornering his prey. With a deep breath, Arthur checked his aim one more time before he squeezed his finger and launched the bolt from his cover in the bushes straight into the deer's chest, burying deep.

The effects were instant, with the stag dropping to the ground and the others bolting or the trees, opposite from where Arthur stood. The king whooped in delight as he and Merlin emerged from the trees to check out the kill.

"Looks like we don't have to wear that moronic hat!" Arthur laughed.

"I suppose we won't," Merlin smiled as he mentally announced their win to the others. Not long after the others found them, each one crestfallen as they spotted the stag.

"Well then congratulations you two, how about a pat on the back?" Gwaine asked, hopeful they wouldn't bring up the original bet.

Arthur, however, held the biggest, smug smile as he reminded, "Oh no, Gwaine, you know the deal."

"There aren't even enough hats for all of us! Clearly this was flawed from the start."

"I'm sure it wouldn't be too difficult to find three more."

Repressing his own laughter as the knights looked to one another in defeat, Merlin went to the rogue knight, mimicking his earlier movement by slinging his arm across his shoulders and said, "Don't worry, it won't be the worst thing you've ever done."

The knight chuckled as he again ruffled the warlock's hair, "Smartarse."

Once more, Merlin swatted the hand away, "Would you sto-"

He didn't finish his sentence. The cheer was gone, dropped when, from deeper into the forest, a scream echoed, a scream that caused all the smiles and laughter to drop from their faces. Without hesitance, the knights drew their swords and ran towards the scream in hopes of finding the source. They crashed through the bushes and branches, everyone hoping that whoever was in trouble, it wasn't too late to help them. In the lead, Arthur arrived at the scene first, with Merlin right at his heels, where he came upon one of the many dirt intersections that led to the city. Standing there was a small group of peasants surrounded by bandits. There were only three of them, a woman, a child and a man unconscious and bleeding on the ground. Arthur's quick mental count told him there were seventeen bandits surrounding the group.

With a small battle cry, Arthur launched himself at the closest bandits, engaging three in combat as Merlin ran past. The warlock flashed a concerned glance at his king before he in turn began his attack. With eyes glowing, he shouted a quick spell that threw the bandits away from the peasants and into their friends. As they tried to pick themselves up, another bandit, from the trees, shot a bolt towards the warlock who halted its flight and turned it onto another bandit. The bandit yelped in pain as the head dug into his left arm, but yanked it out and threw it to the ground so that he could pick up his sword with his other hand and try to swipe at the warlock, which was a poorly made choice as Merlin released another forceful spell and threw them away from him. There were too many bandits getting close to make him feel entirely secured in his position. When Merlin had to stop another bolt targeting the young woman, he realized that the one in the trees were still targeting the travelers, making him incant a shield to materialize around the group.

After the initial few seconds of battle, the other knights joined, each one taking on two bandits each while Mordred jumped in beside Arthur as two more foes joined the first three the king was fighting. They exchanged blows, with the knights' battle prowess enough to already down four bandits. With all the warriors engaged, it left Merlin with the remaining six bandits and the crossbowman hidden in the trees.

The warlock drew his own sword, a weapon he scoffed at but Arthur insisted he took. Turns out it would be of some use after all, he couldn't wait for Arthur to irritate him about it. When the bandits picked themselves up from the ground and rushed him, he released more of his magic, throwing two bandits a third time, this time they didn't get up, while he launched a fireball at another bandit, leaving three bandits to reach him with swords.

Lifting the sword in the air, Merlin deflected the first blade before using his magic to super heat the hilt, an old favorite and a bit simple, but it was effective as he bandit dropped his weapon with a yelp, giving the ex-servant time to plunge his sword in the man's gut. The other two stepped back, unsure what to do against a powerful sorcerer with their now significantly smaller numbers. Their hesitance left an opening, an opening Merlin didn't waste. He began to amass energy for one more powerful spell, his shield wavering behind him during the effort, when a bolt slammed into his shoulder.

He gasped, his concentration lost at the sudden pain. Behind him the shield shattered as the energy he gathered left his grasp. It was all he could do to bite through the pain and block another attack from the closest bandit, metal ringing in his ears and jarring his injured shoulder. His magic spiked to his defense once more, purely instinctual, as he felt more than saw it strike the nearest tree, crushing the wood and felling the tree. Not realizing the danger, the bandit pushed his advantage and charged after the warlock as he scrambled to get away from not the bandit but the oak that crashed on top of the man, killing him. From the branches, the crossbowman fell as well, landing on his head and knocked out cold.

Groaning, Merlin stood up, his hand resting against his shoulder as he tried to carefully feel out the extent of the damage. His eyes swept through the area, noting that the knights dispatching the last of the bandits. He was about to relax when a shriek echoed behind him. He twisted around and watched with growing horror when one of the peasants, and young woman with curly brown hair, was thrown to the ground away from the child and unconscious man. She stared at her attacker, eyes filled to the brim in fear as they locked onto the sword. The knights saw as well, and moved to stop the man, however they were far from the bandit and Merlin knew, without him, that girl would die.

"**Forbearne.**" he whispered, extending his blood coated hand and aimed the fireball at the final bandit. It was all that he needed to stop the bandit. Merlin knew this, knew that he could end the girl's terror with a push of his magic. Yet something beckoned his eyes away from his target, enticing to look not at the man ready to take an innocent's life, but to the innocent herself.

He regretted his choice instantly.

When had they snuck so close, so close without him realizing? When had their frigid hold begun to encase his mind and alter his sight? When he looked to the girl sprawled on the ground, it was only then that he realized how close that shadows reached from around him. Was it the heat of battle that blinded him from the danger? His magic sang to remove the threat, yet he cowered from its power, cowered in self-denial and self-loathing as his mind became a feast to his demons. That moment of realization was enough to shatter everything. His control, his beliefs, his hope, it shattered the illusion that he so desperately clung, built for the hope that everything was fine, everything was okay.

It decimated the pathetic barrier the elixir gave him.

The drug held one purpose and one purpose alone: a temporary shelter from mandrakes influences. It could only protect that which had not been already corrupted. It prevented the mandrakes vengeful magic from entering a person and destroying the user. Dark magic was all that flooded his psyche now and he was a fool to believe he could stop the blight in his mind from growing. It didn't take much to destroy, this illusion. It only took a single image that reminded Merlin just what his choices led to, just what his magic inspired.

The girl on the ground.

She was no longer cow ring in fear, no longer hiding behind her arms. No longer screaming or scrabbling away from her attacker. No, instead, she was staring right at Merlin, her brown eyes like steel that punctured into his very soul and burned hi from the inside out. She was not the girl he spotted when he entered the fray; she had changed when he took his eyes off her, transformed without his notice. Instead of a stranger, she was a girl who was too familiar, too painfully familiar that he could feel his heart shred apart every second he took looking at her. She was in the ever-familiar red dress, the one he found her in, more tattered than her standard fair. Only difference was its deep crimson red color, the same color as blood.

No, that wasn't right. It was dyed by blood itself, her blood leaking from her side, blending into the dress and pooling beneath. Merlin could not differentiate between where the blood ended and where the fabric started, or vice versa. It just grew larger and larger, to an amount that Merlin, with his experience as the physician's ward and later a physician in his own right, knew a human would survive. He felt the warm, sickening, liquid seep beneath his boot, shocking him with how much of the girl's blood covered the forest ground. He shuddered, and looked up, back to the girls eyes, ignoring as the bandit mouth moved; the man's speech was lost to him in the prison the armlet had so cleverly created. All Merlin wanted to do was call to the girl, whisper her name in hopes to be freed from his guilt, his fear.

"Freya," Merlin gasped as he fell to his knees. He made to speak more, but his words lodged in his throat and he was left hyperventilating as Freya smiled, and more blood oozed between her teeth.

"Sloppy work, _sweetie_, sloppy work. Another life you failed." Bloody spittle flew from her mouth as she enunciated each word with care.

Merlin grasped at his throat, almost throttling himself as he tried the remove the nonexistent gag.

"Another girl left for the worms," Freya sang, "There is no love in a monster's heart for anyone but itself. I learned my mistake long ago. I suppose this girl will learn now why not to be relieve when you show up."

Merlin fell forward, his arms shook with the effort to keep his body up as his stomach convulsed and he threw up. From behind him, the voices of the dead cried, insulted, begged, and blamed him for everything. They drowned the other voices that shouted him, trying to get his attention. All the while, the bandit grew closer and closer to the warlock, his mouth opened far too wide than normal to release a inhumane, guttural laugh.

"Remember what we said when you first began your foolishness? That you will be ours?"

The bandit leaned over him, teeth shattered as black sludge, the sludge like the elixir, dribble from his lips onto Merlin, splattering him with the disgusting muck. Then he lifted his leg high above the warlock and slammed it into the bolt, driving it further into his shoulder, though Merlin didn't flinch, as focus as he was on the dead girl. What did incite a reaction from him was the way the bandit shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the girl, whistling as he tapped his blade against his leg in tune.

"You are ours now. No amount of that wretched drink you got yourself addicted to is going to change that." Then Freya let out a blood-chilling laughter that grated against Merlin's ears. He slammed his hand to stop it, to block it, but it penetrated through, not even slightly muffled by his attempts. The trees around him caught into flames, and he could see hundreds of screaming men, women, and children, tied to each one; the victims of the purges, the victims he chose not to help. The forest became a visual hell as the hallucinations took full form. He fell into oblivion, fell with nothing to stop his descent into madness.

Then a warm pressure settled on his uninsured shoulders, giving him a small shake that snapped hi from his personal hell and grounded him into reality. the concerned eyes of his closest friend came into view. Merlin stared numbly at Arthur as the king became more frantic. He barely registered his presence as his mind worked at full speed, processing the grim reality of hiss situation.

The dark magic echoed across his mind, reminding him that it was not over. It was never over. He was the prey in its little game; it would play with him, savor each moment before it grew too impatient and devoured him whole. How much time did he have until the next time it attacked? How long until he next broke down into out of control hallucinations. There was no real way to prepare for the sudden insanity it drove into him. Normality seemed to be the farce the corrupted magic promised him to be.

"Merlin!" Arthur yelled into his ear, pulling him from his thoughts. "Snap out of it, it's over! They're all-"

"No," Merlin interrupted him, trembling. "It's not over, it's" worse. It's gotten so much worse."

"No, you're fine." It would have been effective if the king said it in confidence, yet Arthur's tone betrayed his insecurity over his understanding of the situation. He knew the warlock was hiding something from him, but to what extent he was never sure. Never had he imagined it had gone this far. So, he continued to console the shaking warlock, at lost at what else to do, "You're going to be fine."

"You don't get it Arthur, I-"

"Damnit Merlin, stop this. Everything is okay and you better damn well realize that."

"No, he's right, Sire," Mordred interrupted, his eyes like ice as he glared at the warlock.

Then the Druid rushed at the warlock, fist raised. Had Gwaine not stepped forward to stop him, everyone present was positive he would have punched the warlock. The last thing anyone wanted was for the most powerful warlock being attacked when he is at his most vulnerable.

"Come on, mate, calm down," Gwaine said, shocked as everyone else at the violent display.

"I will not!" Mordred snarled as he jabbed his finger in Merlin's direction, " You nearly got her killed!"

Merlin, still dazed, turned his gaze to the girl Mordred referred too. She no longer appeared as Freya, instead she wore a vest and dark trousers and had a crimson blanket wrapped around her shoulders,

No not a blanket, Mordred's cape, Merlin realized.

"You nearly got Kara killed," Mordred spat.

Oh, Merlin thought as his scattered mind absorbed the new information. Mordred knew the girl Merlin nearly gotten killed.

Another failure.

All around him, the shadows descended.

* * *

**AN: How long has it been? Two-three months? Oh jeez. Sorry about that guys, I really didn't mean to take this long to post :/ Also going to apologize again since I won't be able to answer the reviews to chapter 3. Just need to get back into the swing of things here so for now I won't answer them, but this will be a one time thing cause it drives me insane not to respond to them now. Thank, all of you, who did review, I appreciate your kind comments!**

**Okay, so this update took forever due to several key things. For one thing I hit a massive writer's block for this chapter (it took a better part of the last two/three month to write it. Once it was written I was able to write three more chapters last two weeks). Another thing is I went through the common I-don't-want-to-do-what-I'm-studying-to-do-in-coll ege thing, so I was dealing with reevaluating my education and what not (pretty much happened during my move). That's all sorted now but it also means I'm incredibly busy. To add to being a full-time student, I hold a night job, and volunteer at two separate locations and going through the motions for a third location**

This all means (in terms of when I can update), I'll be sticking to biweekly or every three weeks. For the next update, I should have it up by November 11-18th. It may return to weekly during December when I'm on break, but I can't make promises

**So again, sorry for everything! It looks like I bit off more than I can chew , Thank you for the patience!**

**Let me know what you think of this chapter cause I have no real opinion of it. I don't know, I think it could be better, but that's probably because I took so long being stuck writing (I have about three versions of the beginning o,O). Also edited this with four hours of sleep, it's probably riddled with mistakes.**

******Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!**


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